Somebody Else's Story
by TheGryfter
Summary: Sequel to My Story, His Story, Our Story... After sending Lois back to her world, Clark is left with the task of finding the Superman inside himself. But will the rise of a villiain, and the memory of a love he never had, keep him from his destiny?
1. Shield to Plans

**A:N: Hey, everyone... I'm so sorry about this. While uploading the latest chapter, something went bizarrely wrong with the site. it refused to recognise that the last 3 chapters even existed!**

**I don't know how, or why, but I had to reload the story from the beginning. **

**For convenience sake, I've posted the first four chapters as one document. So, for those who've read up to the part where SPOLIERS - 3 people are sitting in the kitchen making plans - END SPOILERS - you can just skip to the next chapter. That's the new one. **

**If you haven't, you can start from here. **

**Again, sorry for the inconvenience... I hope you guys will carry on this journey with me. **

**Thanks!**

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…**Somebody Else's Story…**

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**Prologue - Goodbye**

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"Are you sure this is going to work?"

"Doctor Swann promised it would."

Lois turned away from him. In the dim recesses of the bunker, behind sheet-glass so thick it could withstand a bomb blast, a technician hit a switch.

Lois cringed.

The machine in front of her looked like it was lifted straight out of a movie she'd seen a long time ago – _Stargate._ It was circular, made of a metal that shimmered in the dim light and covered in strange glyphs.

The empty space inside the circle glimmered for a moment, then pulsed, and then flared into startling light like the inside of the sun.

Lois shrank back, throwing her arm up to shield her eyes. The machine seemed to give off a force, like a powerful magnet trying to suck her in, and her hair whipped around her as though she were standing in the middle of a storm.

Suddenly frightened, she turned back to him.

"I'm scared," she said.

For some strange reason, he laughed.

It was Clark's laugh – full, deep and filled with ironic delight. It rankled her and she frowned.

"What?" she demanded, "What are you laughing at?"

"I know I've only known you a few days…" he said, "But… I never thought I'd hear Lois Lane admit that she was afraid."

"Moment of weakness caused by the huge, unstable portal to another world!" she spat.

"That explains it," said Clark, "Can you do this?"

"I can," she nodded, "Clark… my Clark… He's waiting for me."

"Of course he is. He's probably going crazy. I know I would."

"Thank you," said Lois, "For everything. For believing me… For helping me…"

"Don't mention it," he said, "You should go."

Squaring her shoulders, and still covering her eyes, Lois turned back to the machine. It pulled at her, but every step towards it seemed to take an enormous effort. Up close, she expected the vortex to give off heat and yet, it radiated an icy cold that chilled her bones. Just before she could touch the rip in the air, she turned again…

"Clark!" she called, "I just want you know… I believe in you! Everything I told you… About… about the things he did – who he is – it's all inside you! You just… You just have to find that strength inside yourself!"

"I'll try!" he called back.

He thought she would leave then, turn around step through the portal.

But she didn't.

Instead, she rushed forward and threw herself into his arms.

The moment when her lips touched his, heaven was born inside him.

Electric, painful, and far too fleeting…

She broke away, and cocked a crooked little smile.

"See you around… Smallville…"

Then she was gone. Three quick steps and the rip in the fabric of space whipped her away in a blaze of glorious colour. It flared once, brighter than ever, and then winked out… like a forgotten memory.

The emptiness surrounded him, and filled him.

He hung his head.

"Goodbye, Lois…"

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**Shield**

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The house felt empty.

To Clark, that was the most painful thing of all.

He just couldn't understand it. Lois had been around for only a few days, and yet… without her, his home felt empty.

As he moved robotically through the darkened kitchen, not bothering to switch on the light, he wondered why that was.

Had he really been that lonely before she showed up?

Or… was there just something about Lois?

The woman was like a firecracker that, once lit, refused to go out and filled the world with dancing light.

She was loud, she was brash, she was in your face, she was…

She was everything he never knew he wanted.

Annoyed by his own sombre mood, Clark gave up on the coffee. He gave up on the house entirely when he spotted the copy of the Daily Planet on the table in the living room.

It reminded him of her.

She worked at the Daily Planet in her world, and she insisted on doing the crossword in pen. She got about 60% of it right, but that didn't seem to stop her.

Clark barged out the front door and headed for the barn. If ever he needed the solitude of his loft, it was now. He hit the lights as he came through the door and clomped up the stairs.

Then he stopped.

There was something on the couch.

A box. It was black, with a dark blue ribbon. There was a card, in a green envelope, tucked into the ribbon.

On the card, written in a quick, practiced scrawl was his name: _Clark_.

Frowning, he pulled out the card and opened it. Inside, was a simple message:

'_In case you choose to try… Love Lois…'_

Trembling, Clark lifted the lid of the box.

He gasped.

Ten seconds passed and he still couldn't find breath.

The colour was striking. The blue of the sky in the brightest dawn.

The shield, he'd only seen once before. The day he'd placed the key in the slot in the cave wall, before driving his fist straight through the wall itself. It was the day his dad died, and the last thing he'd wanted was a reminder of his alien heritage – which he still saw as the reason for his father's heart attack. The stress of lying to the world, of raising a son with freakish abilities – all had took their toll on Jonathan Kent.

After the funeral, Clark plucked up the courage to do what he'd been putting off for months. He slotted the key in place, and then destroyed it.

There was a flash of light, and he blacked out for long minutes.

But in that instant before unconsciousness, he'd seen… something. A vision.

A man, tall with grey hair. He was dressed in a white robe, over a black cat suit. On the torso of the suit, was that same shield. The raised 'S' symbol that now – through Lois – he knew to be the family crest of the House of El.

Still shaking, Clark ran his fingers over the raised edge of the shield. Tiny little sparks of electricity seemed to jump to his fingers at the point of touch.

Taking a deep breath, he lifted it out. The cape unfurled behind it, soft, a deep red like the centre of a ruby.

This was it. The suit. _His_suit.

'No!' thought Clark, shaking his head, '_My_ suit. She's given it to me!'

There was the crackle of static, and then: _"442 on Broad, all units respond! 442 on Broad! Over!"_

Clark almost choked with surprise.

He'd been so caught up, he'd forgotten the radio handset still clipped to his belt. He hurriedly stuffed the suit back into the box, and unhooked the set. Pressing it to his mouth, he said:

"Dispatch, this is Kent. Status?"

"_Paramedics and the Fire Marshal already on the scene,"_ came the voice at the other end, _"But you should probably get over there, Sheriff."_

"Roger! On my way!" said Clark, before clicking off.

Not for the first time, Clark put thoughts of his future and his frightening destiny out of his mind. He had a job to do.

He zipped downstairs at super-speed and got into his car. Flicking on his lights, and his siren, he took off, heading for the centre of Smallville.

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It was chaos on the scene.

A car – a cheap Ford hatchback, had wrapped itself around a lamppost. But that wasn't the chaos.

A crowd had gathered.

Like every other small town anywhere, the residents of Smallville were almost grateful for any break to the monotony, and had gathered for some good, old-fashioned street theatre.

A group of Clark's officers as well as two paramedics were grouped around a gurney, atop which sat a man. His hair was once blonde, and now thinning. He was sort of chubby. He was gesticulating wildly as Clark got out of his squad car.

He had no need to flash his badge. Everyone knew the town Sheriff and made way for him.

Clark also had no need for his super-hearing to pick up on the accident _victim's_ rant.

The man was shouting so loud, people a block over could hear him.

"So, I turn the corner, and some lame-ass, corn-fed, wannabe hick in his cliché' of a pickup truck cuts right in front of me!" the guy yelled, "I had to swerve, and that's when I jumped up onto the curb and hit the post!"

"Sir, have you been drinking?" asked Nathan, one of Clark's deputies.

"The hell kinda question is that?" demanded the man, "You should be out there looking for the maniac in the truck, instead of asking me stupid questions, young man!"

Clark could see Nathan visibly tense at the man's words. Coming up behind him, Clark laid a reassuring hand on Nathan's shoulder.

"It's okay, Nate," said Clark, "I've got it from here."

"Yes, sir, Sheriff," said Nathan, backing away.

"So, you're the Sheriff of Loserville, are ya?" asked the man.

Clark ignored him, and turned to the paramedics.

"Any injuries?" he asked.

"Just a bump on the head. He was wearing his seatbelt."

"Hey!" the man clicked his fingers in Clark's face, "I'm talkin' to you!"

"Yes, sir," Clark plastered on the fakest of smiles, "I'm sorry about that. I'm Clark Kent."

Clark held out his hand. It was an old tactic. Being polite was more efficient at getting an agitated person to lower his guard and calm down.

It worked.

"Finally," said the man, shaking Clark's hand, "Someone in this town with some manners."

"Your name, sir?"

"You don't recognise me?" the man smirked.

"I'm afraid not," Clark admitted.

"Well, I'm not surprised," he said, "You've probably only been out the county a couple times in your life, haven't you?"

"Your name, sir," Clark persisted.

"The name's White, kid," he said, "Perry White."

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**Evidence**

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At least the house wasn't empty this time.

There was a tufty little black cat, sitting quite regally on the couch when Clark came through the door. A simple barn cat that Clark had _adopted_ about a year ago. Although that was a very loose term for their arrangement. The cat just kept showing up and Clark fed it.

He'd named it Slugger, for no apparent reason.

The first time Lois had seen it, she'd taken in it's sleek black fur, and promptly named it Snowball.

"Hey Snowball," said Clark, scratching it gently behind the ears.

The cat purred. Clark set out a dish of cat food and a saucer of milk, then tried to decide what to eat.

Clark was, in fact, a wonderful cook – thanks to the tutelage of Martha Kent. But he didn't feel like slaving over a hot stove. He settled for a microwaved lasagne instead, and then flopped down onto the couch. He was tired. He'd spent the rest of the afternoon filling out reports and basically maintaining the status quo down at the station.

He flicked through the TV channels, trying to settle on something to watch, but his mind kept drifting.

The presence of Perry White in Smallville was disturbing. The fact that he was investigating the caves even more so.

A quick Lexus-Nexus search had told Clark all he needed to know about the erstwhile reporter. He was a troublemaker, that was for sure. Unafraid to target the rich and powerful with his poisoned quill.

He'd been shortlisted for a Pulitzer three times, winning once.

That he was on the side of the good guys was not in question. The problem with Perry White was that he was like a dog with a bone. If he suspected that there was anything more to the caves than simple Native American paintings, he would dig, and search, and ferret away until he uncovered the truth.

Clark couldn't have that.

Not after what happened with his ship.

The truth about his origins was too exposed already.

Clark eventually settled on a show on a third-rate network. It was about two brothers riding across the country in a muscle car, fighting monsters. To his surprise, Clark found that he was enjoying it.

So, he was annoyed when he was interrupted by a knock at the door.

Depositing his empty plate in the kitchen sink, he opened the door.

And immediately sighed.

"Hey, kid!" Perry White grinned at him.

"Mr White, what are you doing here?"

"Can I come in?"

Clark stood firm, blocking the doorway. Perry's grin never wavered.

"Where's that small town hospitality I keep hearing about?"

"I think you used it up when you called us Loserville," said Clark.

"Sorry about that," said Perry, "To be fair, I was just in an accident. I wasn't thinking straight."

Clark shook his head, and stepped aside. Perry crossed the threshold, carrying his suitcase and a battered leather briefcase. Clark frowned, and peered out into the yard. There was no one there.

"Did you walk?" he asked.

"No," said Perry, dumping his cases by the couch, "I got a lift with Mr Singer."

"Why?"

"I need to talk to you."

"We have nothing to talk about, Mr White," said Clark, "If you need me to take you to a motel…"

"Kid, please…" said Perry, "I'm not asking for much of your time. I'm thinking maybe you can help me out."

"With what?"

"My story."

Clark was about to protest, but Perry held up his hand, and charged on:

"You know this town. You know the caves. Believe me, this story is in Smallville's best interests."

"How?"

"Well, let's sit down and talk about that."

"And you say I'm stubborn," said Clark.

Perry grinned again.

Clark led him into the kitchen.

"Coffee?"

"I'd love some."

Clark set about making the coffee, as Perry unpacked his suitcase. It contained several files and binders, with clippings from newspapers, printouts, hand-written notes, the works…

"This is everything I've gathered on the story so far," said Perry, gratefully accepting the mug Clark offered him.

"What exactly is this story?" asked Clark.

"First, let me ask you a question," said Perry, "Do you believe in aliens?"

Clark almost choked on a mouthful of hot java. He did his best to disguise it by pretending to laugh.

"Aliens? Mr White, you've gotta be kidding."

"I'm not," said Perry, "Now, I'm not saying they exist. But a very dangerous person certainly thinks they do."

"Who?"

"Lex Luthor."

For the second time in a minute, Clark almost choked.

He'd known Lex Luthor for a very brief time. Lex had lived in Smallville for about a year at the turn of the century. He'd owned the Talon, and asked Martha Kent to manage it. Clark had made some extra money after school working there, with his then-girlfriend Lana Lang.

But that wasn't the reason Clark was suddenly fearful now.

The Lex Luthor that Lois had spoken about was different from the one he knew. That Lex had been best friends with his world's Clark Kent. And they had grown into deadly enemies.

As far as Clark knew, this Lex wasn't the megalomaniac that Lois had painted, but he couldn't be sure.

"Why would Lex Luthor believe in aliens?" asked Clark.

"He claims that the meteor shower that hit Smallville back in '89 was a sign of an alien invasion," said Perry, "He's been researching the town for years. He even moved here for a while."

"I know. I met him," said Clark.

"Well, Lex's interest was sufficient that he spent an average of four million dollars a year for five years doing various _research projects_ in Smallville."

"How do you know all this?" asked Clark.

"I have my methods," Perry waved off the question, "But that's not the part that's got me worried."

"What is?"

"A couple of years ago, something happened here that caused Lex to step up his research. Funding increased from four million a year, to fifteen million."

Clark tried to keep a blank expression on his face. He was very aware of Perry White watching him for any reaction.

He knew exactly what had happened two years ago. It was the day of the cave-in, the day he'd destroyed the key.

The resulting blast had made the news.

"The reason I'm here now," Perry went on, "Is because I'm playing catch-up to Lex Luthor. I need to find out what happened here."

"Why?"

"Because nine months ago his funding stopped."

Clark blinked, "What?"

"He's cut off all the projects, which means…" said Perry, "That either he's given up – and believe me, kid, Lex Luthor ain't the type to give up – or…"

"He found what he was looking for..." Clark finished.

"Exactly."

Perry shut the notebook, a look of triumph on his face. Clark took a breath, trying to run this over in his head.

The timeline certainly fit.

Damn!

"You know something, don't you?" said Perry, eyeing Clark in the same way an eagle would eye a mouse, "I could tell when you just let me go without charges. You don't want me hanging around, because you know what I'm looking for."

"Mr White, I think you should drop this," said Clark, "For your own protection."

"I don't need you to look after me, kid."

"I think you do. You have to trust me. No good can come of this."

"I'm sorry, kid, but I can't do that."

Clark gritted his teeth, "Then what do you want from me?"

"I want you to get me into the caves."

"No. It's a protected area. That would be breaking the law."

"Fine," said Perry, throwing up his hands, "I figured you'd say that. Then there's one other thing you can do for me – since it's mostly your fault…"

"What?"

"I need you to run someone out of town."

"Excuse me?"

"You guys called my office and let them know about my little… accident," said Perry.

"We were hoping they could send someone to pick you up," said Clark.

"Oh, they're sending someone, alright," said Perry, "Only not to pick me up, but to keep an eye on me while I finish my investigation."

"And you want me to run this person out of town?"

"Yeah," said Perry, "You see it in movies all the time. It's most of what a Sheriff does."

"I can't–"

"Kid, the quicker I finish up here, the quicker I'm out of your hair," Perry explained, "Now this… woman they're sending… she's just gonna get in my way. That'll cause delays, which will cause aggravation for you, and all the while… Lex Luthor's going ahead with whatever the hell he's planning."

Clark just shook his head. He refilled his coffee mug, and stared at the man, hoping to convey by his mere expression just how stupid he thought this request was.

"It should be easy," said Perry, "She's just a woman."

"What's her name?" asked Clark.

"Catherine Grant," said Perry, "Everyone calls her Cat. Don't know why they're sending her, she's not even in my department. She works for _Lifestyle_."

Perry said the word like it left a dirty taste.

"I haven't even met the broad," he went on, "But I guarantee she'll be a bigger nightmare than me."

"Well, then I suggest you work something out with her," said Clark, "I'm not getting involved."

"Too late," said Perry.

"What?"

That's when Clark heard the sound of a car pulling up outside.

"You told them you were here?"

"I checked in with the office when I left the salvage yard."

Perry scooted off his chair and headed for the front door. Clark followed, fighting the urge to scream,

Perry opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. A black Jeep Wrangler had just parked in the driveway. A woman lifted herself out of the front seat, and rounded the hood.

"She looks different from her photo," said Perry.

He turned to look at Clark. He did a double-take.

Clark looked like he wasn't breathing. Because, point of fact, he wasn't.

All colour had drained from his face, and he was trembling. His eyes were fixed on the woman as she made her way across the yard.

"Kid?" said Perry, "Are you okay?"

"That's… er…" Clark tried to find his voice, a feat that was proving difficult, "That's not Cat Grant, Mr White."

"It's not?"

Clark shook his head.

"No. That's Lois Lane…"

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**Plans**

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Perry was confused.

"You know her?" he asked.

"No."

"Then how–?"

"Shh…"

Clark nudged Perry in the back, causing him to stumble a couple of steps, right into the porch rail. He recovered in time to extend a hand to the striking dark-haired woman climbing the steps.

"Mr White?" she said, "I'm Lois Lane. Mr McElroy sent me."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Lane."

"Such an honour to meet you," Lois gushed, "Really, you have no idea. I've read everything you've ever written. The Times, The Globe, even your stuff from The Inquisitor."

"Well, nice to meet a fan," said Perry, chuckling.

Lois broke the handshake, and the beaming smile she'd been wearing faltered as she glanced over Perry's shoulder.

Clark was just staring at her.

He was sure he looked like a brain-dead idiot, but there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

He'd been sure he'd seen the last of Lois when she stepped through the portal, but now…

Of course, it had occurred to him that Lois might have a double on this world, but he had no intention of seeking her out.

He could just picture that conversation.

_Hi, do you know we're soulmates on another plane of existence?_

But… here she was.

The same composed poise, and grace. The flowing dark hair. Her skin, like polished ivory. Her eyes, dark, but flecked with gold like glitter dust. Those legs… that body!

Clark blinked rapidly when he felt the burn rising behind his eyes that signalled the onset of his heat-vision.

"You must be Mr Kent," said Lois, a little uncertain – obviously put off by the intensity of his gaze.

"Uh, yeah… yes!" he said, "That's what they… who… they call me."

Lois nodded, and the edge of her lips flicked up in a wry smile: "Right…"

She layered so much sarcasm into that one syllable that Clark actually winced.

She was Lois, alright.

When the other Lois had come looking for him, she'd been caught in a rainstorm. She was soaking wet and terrified. And yet, within two minutes of meeting him, she'd said: _"Thank you! I would love some coffee! I'm so glad you offered!"_

From that moment on, Clark had to fight every minute just to stay on even keel around her. He liked to think he'd gotten it right, somewhat, by the time she left.

Yet, faced with her doppelganger, he was back to the bumbling buffoon again.

He was determined to put it right, and introduce himself as _Sheriff_ Kent, but Lois had already tuned him out and was talking to Perry.

"Mr McElroy told me to come out here and keep an eye on you," Lois was saying, "He said you're wilful with company expenses. You're chasing dangerous leads, and you're no nearer a story than you were when you started."

As she spoke, Clark could see the back of Perry's neck start to burn. He imagined the man's face must look like a thundercloud.

"So, I told him I'd babysit you," said Lois, airily.

Clark could almost see the steam coming out Perry's ears, like something out of a comic book. Lois was smiling again, that same cocky smile, and Clark was tempted to step in front of her as a shield.

"That's the only way he would have sent me out here," said Lois.

"What?" said Perry.

"He wanted to send that bubble-head Cat Grant," Lois snorted, "So I told him what he wanted to hear. Anything to get a chance to work with you, sir."

"What?" said Perry, again, a little derailed.

"Anything you need," said Lois, "Scud work, research, even if you just need me to drive you around, I don't care. I just started at the Daily Planet a year ago - I'm still stuck in the basement - and if I end up half the reporter you are, then... well... let's just say, I want to learn everything you have to teach me."

Perry puffed like a peacock at that, and Clark had to fight the urge to laugh.

"I think I'm going to like you, Miss Lane," said Perry, "Would you like to come inside?"

Lois nodded, and Perry led the way.

"Uh… it's my house," Clark pointed out, but neither of them seemed to hear him.

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"Those caves are the key," Lois was saying, some time later.

They were gathered around the kitchen table, perched on tall stools, with Perry's notes scattered across every surface that didn't hold a coffee mug.

"That seems likely," said Perry.

"Lex started the foundation that got them protected, granting him full access. We have to see what he was doing down there."

Clark was content to just sit back and watch. He'd recovered from his initial shock, and now he was just enjoying watching the two of them work. They looked like old friends already, firing questions and random ideas at each other. It was fascinating.

"So, we go take a look," said Perry.

"And how do you propose to do that?" Clark cut in, for the first time in a while.

"They don't have guards, do they?" asked Lois.

"No, but it's a restricted area."

"So?"

"So, if you break in, I'll arrest you."

"You'll arrest me?"

"I'm sorry, did I stutter?"

"Haven't you been paying attention?"

"Apply for a permit," said Clark.

"From Lex Luthor?" Lois shot back.

Okay, Clark had to admit that that was probably a stupid idea.

"I can't just let you walk in there," he said.

"Then come up with another idea," said Lois.

"I'll go with you," said Clark.

"Now suddenly you're on board?" said Perry, "When I asked you–"

"You'll both just charge in there whether I say yes or not," said Clark, "And it's dangerous. The cave-in destabilised the whole place. It could all come down."

"And what are you going to do if that happens?" Lois demanded, obviously rankled by Clark suddenly taking charge, "Catch the roof?"

Clark rolled his eyes, and turned to Perry, blocking Lois out.

"With me there, at least you have a leg to stand on if anyone from LexCorp is on site," he said.

"Great," said Perry, "Let's go now."

"It's dark out."

"You don't have flashlights in this town?"

"Mr White…" Lois began.

"Please, Lois, enough. Call me Perry."

"I don't think bringing the Sheriff of Nottingham over here is a good idea," she said.

"The Sheriff of Nottingham?" Clark mumbled.

"He is the authority in this town, Lois."

"The guy from Robin Hood?"

"Still, he has no experience with this kind of thing," she persisted.

"So, I'm the bad guy now?"

"It's the only way we get to survey the site," said Perry.

"Fine…" Lois muttered, "But if you get in our way."

"Just stay out of my way," said Clark, "And try not to get yourself killed."

The look Lois shot him would have felled a redwood. _And_ the hill it was standing on.

Clark answered with a broad smile that only ticked her off more.

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	2. Cave

**Cave**

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The beams of their flashlights barely pierced the gloom of the cave. Outside, a bare sliver of a moon hung in the night sky, offering little illumination.

Clark led the way, stepping carefully, because large chunks of the ceiling had collapsed, forcing him to step around new rock formations and piles of rubble.

It was the first time he'd been down here since he caused the cave-in, and he felt a sharp stab of guilt.

The paintings that had once coated the walls had remained intact for hundreds of years until, in a fit of rage, he'd brought it all crashing down.

"You were right, Kent," said Lois, from just behind him, "This doesn't look safe."

Clark chuckled, "I was right?"

"Mark down the date," Lois snapped, "It's the one time you'll hear me say that."

They reached a point where a section of the wall had sheered off, blocking the entrance, except for a small aperture that they could just about fit through if they crabbed sideways.

Clark planted his back against the still-standing wall, and grabbed Lois' hand. She didn't protest.

Clark felt a tingle run up his arm at her touch, and he shivered.

"Scared?" she mocked, obviously feeling the movement.

Clark huffed, and started inching his way forward.

"How deep does this go?" came Perry's voice.

"It used to extend about a hundred feet," answered Clark, "Now…? Who knows?"

He kept angling the flashlight up, and then down, constantly checking the floor and the ceiling.

It was like walking sideways through a long, flat casket, and Clark was very aware that a few hundred tons of rock was looming over them. Unstable rock at that. He felt Lois' grip on his hand tighten, and considered a snappy comment, but quickly decided against it.

Progress was slow, and often Clark would have to angle his legs away from his body and step over large boulders blocking the path.

Eventually, the beam of the flashlight fell away from the wall and into open space. Clark stepped through and swung the light around. He stopped so suddenly that Lois bumped into the back of him.

"What is it?" she asked, helping Perry past the last of the debris."

"It's… it's…" Clark spluttered.

"What?" Lois demanded, growing impatient.

"It's exactly the same," said Clark, "Like it was before the cave-in. I don't understand. How…?"

Perry and Lois moved away from him, and started to explore the miraculously reformed cave. Clark was rooted to the spot.

He couldn't make sense of it.

The day of the cave-in, he'd dug his way out. Once on the surface, he'd scanned the ground with his x-ray vision. The cave was gone. It wasn't just the one section blocking the entrance. He'd been sure of it.

The evidence of his own eyes said otherwise. It was whole again – exactly like it was before.

"These are amazing…" Perry muttered from the dim recesses of the cave.

He was inspecting the paintings on the walls, all of which were restored.

"Do you know what any of these mean, Clark?" he asked.

"No," said Clark, "I found this place by accident. I was walking one day, and fell through a loose section in the roof. They think it's Native American, but nobody's been able to place it."

"That's a shame…" muttered Perry.

Clark felt a little bad about lying to them. True, he didn't know what most of these paintings meant – but he knew they had something to do with him. With where he came from. Clark suspected that Dr Virgil Swann knew more about it than he was letting on – but Dr Swann was reluctant to confide in Clark much. Not that Clark blamed him – he hadn't exactly lived up to his billing as an Intergalactic Traveller.

Clark had sensed the connection the minute he first set foot in the place. And the octagonal slot in the wall had confirmed it.

The slot!

His heart suddenly racing, Clark dashed forward, around the slight bend to the place where he'd inserted the key. He was praying under his breath as he trained the light on it.

It was whole and restored, just like the rest of the cave.

But the key was gone!

"Oh, God…" Clark muttered, reeling backwards.

He was still rushing through a hundred different scenarios – _the key had been destroyed. The key had been stolen. The key had reformed the caves_ – when he saw something that spiked his panic level to critical.

Lois was up on a very shallow, very brittle ledge, crabbing her way along so that she could get a closer look at a particular drawing.

"Lois!" he called, dashing forward so that he was standing underneath her.

"Don't get your panties in a twist, Sheriff! I'm fine!" she chided him.

Clark wasn't taking her word for it. He stood right underneath her, primed to catch her if she fell.

"What's so interesting that it's worth risking your neck over?" asked Clark.

"This…" said Lois, aiming her flashlight, "I just saw it, and… I dunno… I wanted to get a closer look."

Clark fixed his light on the same spot. It was a simple graphic symbol, painted in turquoise. Clark just made out the shape:

It was rectangular, with two diamonds in the centre - a smaller diamond inside a larger one. It looked like the setting for some cheap piece of faux-jewelry. Wholly unremarkable.

"What's so fascinating about that?" he demanded.

"I don't know…" said Lois, "It just… speaks to me."

"Lois, this isn't a museum. Please, come down from there."

"Only if you say the magic word," she retorted.

"I just did!" Clark protested.

"I didn't hear you say _abracadabra_…"

"Oh, for crying out–!"

Clark stepped forward and grabbed hold of her jeans. He tugged and, with a yelp, Lois fell off the ledge. Stepping smartly sideways, Clark caught her in his arms.

Even in the gloom, Clark could see the flash of indignation in her eyes.

"Was that necessary?" she asked.

"Apparently," said Clark.

She glared at him.

He glared back.

She glared some more…

Time stopped.

The fire in her eyes was fading to slow burning ember… still bright, and warm, but…

But…

"Uh, Clark…?" she began, "You can put me down now…"

"What? Oh, sorry."

Clark almost dropped her. Lois staggered back a step. They both tugged at their shirts and cleared their throats, refusing to look at each other.

Awkward.

"Where's Perry?" asked Lois.

"I dunno," said Clark.

They faced opposite directions, waving their flashlights.

"Perry!" Clark called, "Perry!"

No response.

Clark headed further into the cave. He wasn't certain, but he didn't think Perry had passed him. He rounded the slight bend by the key-slot, and…

Nothing.

No sign of Perry.

Lois was still calling out, checking by the entrance.

Clark engaged his x-ray vision, and did a full 360 degree scan.

The only person he could see was Lois.

"He's gone!" Lois came round the bend, and Clark saw his own panic mirrored in her expression, "It's like he just vanished into thin air!"

Clark's first instinct was to tell her that that was impossible, but he curbed himself.

It wasn't impossible.

It was true.

Perry White had just... disappeared.

.

.

.


	3. Missing

**Missing**

.

.

.

"You don't need me to give you a description, Marjorie! We have his mug shot at the station from this afternoon!" stormed Clark.

He was propped up in the front seat of his squad car, his legs hanging out the open door. Lois was pacing up and down outside.

"_Yes sir, Sheriff."_

"Make sure the state police get a copy – I want eyes and ears everywhere," said Clark, "Any sign of him, get word to me directly."

Clark clicked off the radio, and slotted it back into the console on the dashboard. Rubbing at his face, he stood up.

"This is crazy," Lois muttered, "People don't just vanish."

"We'll find him," Clark tried to reassure her, "All the squad cars in the state are hooked up by computer now. His photo will be out there in minutes."

"Okay," Lois nodded.

"Where are you staying tonight?" asked Clark.

"I figured Perry got a room at a motel, or something," said Lois, "I was gonna get one of my own."

"No way," said Clark, "You're staying with me."

"Uh… excuse me?" Lois looked affronted.

"It's for your own safety," said Clark, "We don't know what happened to Perry in there. Someone could have snatched him. I don't want them coming back for you."

"How could they have done that, Clark?" she asked, "There's only one entrance to those caves, and nobody passed us."

"I don't know," said Clark, "But I'm not taking a chance."

"I'm a big girl, Sheriff. I can take care of myself."

"I'm glad you think you have a choice in the matter," said Clark.

"What?"

Lois posed, with her hands on her hips, head cocked to the side, and she was staring at him like he'd just grown two heads.

"Your bags are already at my place," said Clark, "Once we get back there, I'm not letting you out again."

"Just who the hell do you think you are?"

"I'm not discussing this anymore."

Clark climbed back into the car and fired it up. Lois didn't move. She folded her arms, bit her bottom lip and just stood there, defiant. Clark sighed, and rolled down the window.

"Lois…" he said, "Get in."

Once more, she didn't budge. Instead, she started tapping her foot.

"Get in!"

"No."

"Get in!"

"Make me!"

Clark growled and got out the car.

"You're acting really childish, you know that?" he said.

"You're acting really childish, you know that?" she mocked.

"I'm not gonna ask again, Lois."

"I'm not gonna ask again, Lois!"

Clark shrugged. He opened the back door, then scooped her up under one arm.

"What are you doing? Let me go!" she yelled, pounding on his stomach with her fists. She might as well have been hitting a rock.

"You wanted to do this the hard way," said Clark.

Without any ceremony, he casually dumped her into the back seat. Lois landed with a yelp, and immediately dove for the other door. She tugged furiously on the handle, but it wouldn't open. Clark closed the door, and climbed into the driver's seat.

"Let me out!" Lois yelled.

She carried on trying to open the doors, to no avail.

"It's a police car, Lois," said Clark, with a trace of amusement, "The back doors don't open."

"I'm pressing charges!" she threatened.

"Fine," said Clark, "I'll take your statement as soon as we get to the house."

Clark flicked the car into Drive and took off. The trip back to the farm was made in frosty silence. Everytime Clark's eyes darted up to the rear-view mirror, he caught Lois staring daggers at him. It made him want to laugh.

"I'm doing this for your own protection," he told her reflection.

Lois huffed, and turned to look out the window. Clark swung in under the warped wooden sign that declared that this was: the 'Kent Farm'. He parked in the driveway and got out. Opening up her door, Clark leaned in.

"Are we going to play the reverse game now?" he asked, "You refuse to get out of the car? I used to play that with my dad. It was fun."

"As if I'd give you the satisfaction!" Lois hissed.

She planted a hand on his chest, and Clark allowed her to shove him backwards. Lois tore herself out of the car, and headed for the house. Clark followed.

Once inside, Lois set about making herself some coffee. She'd obviously been watching him when he'd prepared the coffee earlier, because she found everything she needed as easily as if she was tuttering around her own kitchen.

Clark leaned against the wall next to the door and just watched her, a faint, amused smile playing on his lips.

"What?" asked Lois, frowning at him as she pulled out a fresh coffee filter.

"Nothing," said Clark.

Lois clicked her tongue at him and carried on.

"So… where are we?" she asked, "There were no obvious answers in the cave itself. We still don't know what Lex Luthor wanted down there. But I think we missed something. A passageway, a cleft in the roof… something."

"I don't think so," said Clark, "I went down there a few times before the cave-in. It looked… exactly the same."

And that's precisely what had Clark worried. The cave had rebuilt itself.

There was power there… hidden, and untapped. Power that had claimed Perry. Clark offered up a quick prayer, hoping against hope that the cranky old journo was alive.

"Then the only explanation is that Perry was transported somewhere," said Lois, "And that sounds more like a story for the Inquisitor than the Planet."

"What made you decide on journalism?" asked Clark.

Lois paused, and shot him a puzzled look: "What?"

"No, I'm just… curious," said Clark, "Why journalism."

"I dunno…" said Lois, "When it's done right, the job is just so… pure, you know? You're keeping the people informed. It's your duty to get to the truth of things. And there's power in words… The media gets a lotta flak these days… with the tabloids, and the libel suits, but, like I said, when it's done right… it's the only thing I ever wanted to do."

By the time she finished her little speech, Clark was smiling. Lois looked offended.

"What?" she demanded, "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," said Clark, still smiling, "It's just… nice to hear someone talk about their job that way. So… passionate."

"Well, what about you?" asked Lois, "Why did you decide to become a cop?"

"It was kinda recommended for me," said Clark, "You remember in high school, how they make you take those aptitude tests? That's what mine came up with, a career in law enforcement."

"Because you like guns?"

"Because I wanna help people."

"That's great," said Lois, "So you must be happy then."

The smile on Clark's face slowly faded. His eyes took on a distant look. Lois picked up on it immediately.

"You're _not_ happy?" she prompted.

"I used to think I was," Clark admitted, "But lately… I dunno, I just… I feel like I can do more. A lot more. That there's more to my life than Smallville."

"So change it," said Lois, "If you aren't happy, change your life."

"Oh, it's that easy?"

"No," she shook her head, "It's damn hard. And it's scary. And when you first try – you wake up at night going over all the ways that it could be the biggest mistake of your life, but you know what?"

"What?"

"That's how you know it's worth it."

The smile came back. Seeing it blossom on his face, Lois returned it.

She didn't just smile. It was born behind her eyes – the product of a pure spirit and it was like a light coming on in deepest darkness.

Clark was lost in it.

"What?" said Lois, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I'm sorry," said Clark, trying to shake the candyfloss from his mind, "I guess you just make it _sound_ easy. Like… because you say it, I can do it. And I know how stupid that sounds because we just met, but… it's true."

"Wow… Sheriff Flatterer…" she grinned.

She turned away from him, and poured the coffee. Clark just stood there, his mind drifting…

Suddenly, he could understand the Superman that existed on that other world.

Of course he could do the things he did. Of course he could defy fate and the laws of nature and the universe.

Lois said he could.

_Your word, oh Queen, is my command…_

_._

_._

_._


	4. Name

**Name**

.

.

.

"Can I take a shower?"

"Can you… er… what?"

Clark looked up from the scattering of Perry's notes. He was trying to make sense of the rambling doodles in the margins, and wasn't having much luck.

Lois held up her small suitcase.

"A shower," she said, "I drove all the way down here, and then we were crawling around a cave and I feel kinda gross, so…"

"Oh, yeah… sure," said Clark, "It's up the stairs, first door on your right."

"Thanks."

Lois turned around and hustled up the stairs.

"There should be clean towels in the closet next to it!" Clark called after her.

"Got it!"

Clark heard her close the door. A few seconds later, he heard the shower start up. It took absolutely everything he had not to switch on his x-ray vision and sneak a peek.

But he had more important things to do.

In a sudden gust of wind, Clark disappeared from the kitchen.

He still wasn't used to the eerie sensation of using his super-speed, despite the fact that he'd able to do it for years. Everything warped, so that the world formed a giant tunnel, where the walls shifted and blurred like a kaleidoscope. Sound actually seemed to be muted, except for the incessant rushing of the wind.

Clark figured he had about twenty minutes.

If the Lois from this world was anything like the other Lois, then she was fond of marathon showers.

He started his search at the caves. Once again using his x-ray vision, Clark explored every inch of the place. Once again, he was met with nothing but miles of rock and earth.

Then he switched outside, moving in ever increasing circles, starting from the entrance to the caves.

It was mostly flatland out here, and a few farms – but other than a the herds and families settling in for the night, he could see no sign of Perry.

Clark wished he had the ability to fly – it would have been really handy. A bird's eye view could have expanded the scope of the search.

With about three minutes left, Clark stopped. He was near the county border, in a copse of trees beside a brook.

Nothing.

Fighting down his frustration, Clark zipped back to the farm. But he didn't go inside. Instead, he detoured to the storm cellar. Lifting the heavy steel-reinforced doors, he climbed down the steps.

It was still stocked with the emergency supplies his dad had bought. Candles, preserved food, bottled water… but Clark couldn't help but dwell on what was missing.

This was where his father had stashed his ship. The vessel that had brought him across the stars.

Clark could still see the deep groove in the earth from where the heavy vessel had rested.

Nine months ago, Clark had been woken up in the middle of the night. There was a sharp, insistent ringing in his ears, like a painful, high-pitched whistling. Clark cried out, and covered his ears but it did no good.

Stumbling outside, he tried to follow the noise.

It led him out onto the field that housed the storm cellar. Clark knew that it must be the ship that was making that noise – but he never got a chance to find out why.

Before he reached the entrance, he was thrown back when the doors to the cellar exploded outwards. A jet of harsh, white-hot light shot out, piercing the sky. The intensity of the light increased, and Clark felt the little hairs on the back of his arms start to singe.

He screamed.

And then it was gone – winked out. And the silence rolled in like a cloud.

Staggering to his feet, Clark managed to make his way down the stairs. At the base he stopped, blinking rapidly, unable to believe his eyes.

The ship was gone.

And now Perry White had disappeared too. Clark didn't know how, or why, but he was certain that the two were connected somehow.

He just didn't have a clue how to proceed.

Being Sheriff of Smallville didn't actually call for much in the way of investigative skills. The most baffling case he'd ever been involved in was when a car-theft ring had tried to infiltrate the county. Clark had busted the whole gang by the end of the day.

This was different.

This required skills he didn't know he had. That meant one thing… Lois.

Lois!

Cursing himself for a fool, Clark shot back out of the storm cellar. He made a quick trip to the barn to stash the box with the suit, then went back inside. Lois was just coming down the stairs when he came through the door.

"Hey," she said, "Where have you been?"

Clark didn't answer.

He couldn't.

She was wearing a pair of sleeping shorts and a t-shirt. She was rubbing at her still-wet hair with a towel.

Little beads of water ran down the curve of her neck, seeping into the cloth of her shirt.

"_Breathe, Clark, breathe…" _he told himself. It didn't help.

"Where have you been?" she asked again.

"Uh… I was just… checking in on the radio," said Clark, "No sign yet."

Lois sighed. She padded barefoot to the kitchen table, and Clark found himself staring at her shapely legs. She was tall, but there was still something delicate about her. She also walked with a kind of grace that made his head go all fuzzy.

"Maybe there's something in his notes," said Lois, "We should go over it all again. See if we missed anything."

"Good idea," said Clark.

They divided up the various folders and notepads. Grabbing her stack, Lois retired to the couch.

"Coffee?" offered Clark.

"Thanks," said Lois, "You're a lifesaver, Smallville…"

Clark went very still. He was standing in the middle of the kitchen, the coffee pot clutched in his hand. He turned slowly, and looked at her. She was sitting on the couch, with her legs tucked in underneath her, spreading out the files.

"What did you call me?" he asked.

"Don't tell me you're offended by that too," said Lois, "I figured it's better than Sheriff."

"No…" Clark choked, "It's… fine. I mean, I… I like it."

"You do?" she grinned, "Okay… Smallville it is."

.

.

.

'_WH 13, Bird. _

_3 Rot. Of 4/per…_

_Lead, steel, wire. 4 ship. _

_Monday.'_

Clark rubbed at his tired eyes and stared at the section, almost willing it to make sense.

It didn't.

It was the last entry in what looked to be Perry's journal.

Clark didn't know what it meant.

What was _WH 13? _What _Bird? 4/per _what….?

"Lois, I can't make any sense of this…" he muttered.

He was at the kitchen table. He needed the space for the files. He swung round on his stool to face Lois, who was still on the couch.

He chuckled.

She was still in the same pose – legs crossed, her hands in her lap… but she was fast asleep. Now that he was paying attention, he heard her snore softly.

Trying to be as quiet as possible, Clark slid off the stool and made his way into the living room. He stood over her for a moment, just watching her sleep. She gave a little snort, and he had to suppress a laugh.

Bending down, Clark snuck his one hand in underneath her legs, the other winding behind her back. When he was sure he had a good grip, he straightened up, lifting her effortlessly up off the couch.

Lois' head lolled to the side and came to rest over his heart. Keeping his steps slow and measured, Clark climbed the stairs. He took her into his old bedroom. It still smelled like the aftershave he was so fond of in high school, but it was scrupulously clean.

Setting her gently down on the bed, Clark straightened her legs, then pulled down the sheets and covered her. He made sure her head was safely on the pillow.

The drapes were open, and soft starlight drifted through, illuminating her face.

She was so… peaceful when she slept. Her expression calm, and serene.

She was beyond beautiful, and Clark felt an ache forming in his chest.

This was the woman he'd forgotten to hope for.

When she was awake, she was all fire and bravado, and asleep… an angel at rest.

Clark squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will away the maelstrom inside. They had an important job to do. They had to find Perry, and figure out what Lex Luthor was up to.

This was absolutely no time to fall in love.

And, knowing that, Clark felt his heart break just a little.

Weakness took him, and he bent over at the waist. It seemed to take hours just to cross that final few inches, until his lips met the cool surface of her cheek. Sparks danced their way all over his body at the touch. Lois made a little noise in her sleep… like a purring in the back of her throat.

Clark stood, and allowed himself one last, lingering look.

"Goodnight, Lois…" he whispered.

Then he left her to her dreams… whatever they may be.

.

.

.


	5. Trip

**Trip**

.

.

.

Clark didn't sleep.

When the sun peeked over the distant horison, and he still felt as fresh as a Sunday morning, he told himself it was because he needed to make some headway on the data Perry had collected. And, indeed, he was sitting up going over everything again.

But that wasn't the truth.

No, it was the memory of that little barely-there kiss that left him feeling like a series of livewires had replaced his veins.

He had to pull himself together when Lois made her way downstairs around seven. She'd taken another shower. Clark really wished she'd stop doing that.

"Shower's free," she announced, "I tried to save some hot water for you, but I can't promise anything."

"That's okay," Clark mumbled as he moved past her, "Probably gonna need a cold one anyway…"

"What?"

"Nothing," said Clark, "I marked a section there in Perry's journal. It says Monday, so it might be referring to something that's happening tonight. See if you can make any sense of it."

"Sure."

Clark headed upstairs. He didn't bother turning on the hot water in the shower.

He decided against wearing his uniform today. Instead slipping on a pair of jeans, and a bright red t-shirt. Maybe it was the influence of the suit Lois had given him, but he was starting to think these were his colours.

"Any luck?" he asked, when he came downstairs.

"I think so," said Lois, "_WH 13_ is Warehouse 13. That I'm pretty sure of. It's obviously referring to some shipment coming in. Or shipments that have come in."

"Great," said Clark, "There aren't that many warehouses in Smallville."

"That's if Perry's talking about Smallville," said Lois, "He could be talking about Metropolis, or any other city."

"Well, that doesn't make the job any more difficult," muttered Clark, dryly.

"I know someone who can help us narrow it down," said Lois, "Or at least track where Perry's been these past coupla weeks."

"In Metropolis, right?"

"Right."

Clark sighed, "I'd better call in sick, then."

.

.

.

"Okay, thank you Marjorie."

Clark closed the flap on his cellphone, ending the connection, and slid it back into his pocket.

"What did she say?" asked Lois, from the driver's seat.

They'd left Clark's cruiser at home, deciding that Lois' rented Jeep was the better option for the sojourn to Metropolis. Clark agreed that between the two, the Jeep was slightly less conspicuous, but he remained wholly unconvinced about Lois' skills as a driver.

She was fast, reckless and impatient – so much so that Clark kept forgetting he was invulnerable and braced himself on the dashboard on more than one occasion as she made a lane change without looking.

"No sign of Perry," Clark reported, "The state police have been pulling people over for random checks all night."

"Are they allowed to do that?"

"I helped the Chief out a coupla times," said Clark, "He owes me."

"It has to be tied into this story," said Lois, "If we can figure it out, we'll find Perry."

"Do you really think that, or are you just hoping?" asked Clark.

"Little bit of both," she admitted.

Without thinking, Clark reached over and squeezed her hand. Lois threw a sharp glance at him.

"We'll find him," said Clark.

He said it with such certainty that Lois smiled, grateful.

A silence settled between them, but it was heavy and uncomfortable. Lois must have felt it too, because suddenly she leaned right over Clark and popped open the glove compartment. Problem was, she took her eyes off the road. Panicking, Clark grabbed the wheel.

"Lois! What are you doing?"

"Looking for a CD," she said, flipping through a stack of cases.

"This is a rental car."

"So? I always carry some with me."

She found the CD she wanted and slotted it in. It was very retro – wailing guitars and a whiskey voice.

"Who is this?" asked Clark.

"Whitesnake," said Lois, "You don't know 'em?"

"Can't say I do."

"Well, listen…" she said, cranking the volume, "You're about to learn something."

.

_I can't stop the feeling_

_I've been this way before_

_But with you I found the key_

_To open any door_

_I can feel my love for you_

_Growing stronger day by day_

_And I can't wait to see you again_

_So I can hold you in my arms_

_._

They hit the chorus, and Lois started singing along. She was loud, and so far off-key, Clark had to redefine his whole definition of music. It was brash, and lustful and all he could do was laugh.

.

_Is this love that I'm feeling_

_Is this the love that I've been searching for_

_Is this love or am I dreaming_

_This must be love_

_This must be love…_

_._

Lois broke off, and punched him on the shoulder.

"Stop it!" she cried, "Don't laugh at me!"

"I'm sorry," said Clark, "It's just… You must really like this song to… massacre it so badly."

"Hey!" she protested, "I have a wonderful singing voice!"

"No, Lois," Clark shook his head, "You do not."

"Whatever happened to chivalry?" she asked.

"Chivalry's one thing… outright lying is another."

"Fine!"

Lois lowered the volume.

"Don't stop," said Clark, "You can't sing worth a damn, but that doesn't mean it's not entertaining."

Lois clicked her tongue at him.

"I suppose you never do anything like that, do you?" she said, "Just sing for the sake of it?"

"No," said Clark, "I guess not."

"I figured."

Clark frowned, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I dunno," Lois shrugged, "You just… seem like a more… uptight… type."

"Uptight?"

"It's just a vibe I get off you, that's all."

"I– I–" Clark spluttered, "I am _not_ uptight!"

"Really?" said Lois, "When's the last time you did something crazy?"

"I'm not allowed to do crazy," said Clark, "I'm the Sheriff. I'm supposed to set an example."

"And I'm sure you set a fine example of small-town boringness."

"That's not even a word!" said Clark, "And you call yourself a journalist."

"Why are you getting so upset?"

"Why are you calling me uptight and boring?"

Lois huffed, and just concentrated on the road. Clark was amazed at himself. Lois had a knack for pushing his buttons, that much was certain. Why did he get so upset so quickly?

"I'm sorry," said Lois, after a while, "I didn't mean to rag on you."

"It's okay," said Clark, "I'm not usually that sensitive."

"Do you find yourself in Metropolis much?" she asked, trying to change the subject.

"Not much," said Clark, "A few times with my dad to watch a Sharks game, that's about it."

"You don't like the big city?"

"No, I like it fine, it's just… not me."

"How do you know?" asked Lois.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you said it yourself last night – you're not happy with your life. Maybe what you need is a change of scenery. I guess I can understand the whole thing about small town charm, but… living in Metropolis is a rush. It's like… the centre of the universe, and you feel like you're right in the middle of it."

"My mom's from Metropolis," said Clark, "She used to say the same thing."

"Where are your parents?" asked Lois.

"My mom lives in Wichita," said Clark, "After my dad died, she took the bar exam again, got offered the Assistant DA position."

"Your dad's gone?"

Clark nodded.

"My mom passed when I was four," said Lois, "Dad might as well have for all the time my sister and I spent with him."

"I'm sorry," said Clark.

"It is what it is," said Lois.

The silence came again, but this time it was easy. Clark felt himself relax.

Lois took the exit, and turned off the highway. She didn't head straight for the city itself. Instead she took an overpass, skirting downtown and making for the river.

Traffic was light, and it wasn't long before Lois pulled up outside a fairly expensive apartment building.

"This is where your Tech-Wizard lives?" said Clark, "Fancy."

There was a doorman who greeted Lois by name as he let them in. They climbed into the elevator and Lois punched the button for the penthouse. Clark was impressed. They stepped out of the elevator into a plush-carpeted hallway. The light fittings were genuine brass. The place reeked of money.

Lois knocked on the door.

"Who is it?" came a piping voice from the other side.

"It's me!" called Lois.

A few seconds passed, then the door opened. A tiny blonde with spiky hair stood in the doorway. She grinned at Lois, and Clark noted that she had the same cheekiness about her that Clark assumed was Lois' alone.

"Hey, cuz!"

Lois hugged the woman, then turned to Clark.

"Chlo, this is Clark Kent, he's the Sheriff I told you about," said Lois, "Clark, meet my cousin Chloe."

.

.

.


	6. Break In

**Break-In**

.

.

.

"Using the warehouse number as our starting point's the wrong way to go," said Chloe, her face shining from the glare of the multiple computer screens in front of her, "Instead, what we can do is play a quick game of Big Brother and see what Mr White's been up to these past few weeks. There's always a pattern, and once we figure out what that is, we can Rubik's Cube it into the notes in the journal and we'll have your destination."

"Wow…" said Clark, "Do you… always… talk like that?"

"Like what?" said Chloe.

"What is all this?" asked Lois, pointing to the screen.

"Perry White's credit card records," said Chloe.

"Uh… is that legal?" asked Clark.

"You don't have any jurisdiction here," said Chloe.

"I'm not so much worrying about jurisdiction, as I am about Federal prison."

Chloe grinned, "Don't worry, we're just gonna have a quick look. And they won't be able to trace me anyway."

Chloe started scrolling through the pages of transactions onscreen.

"He sure buys a lotta stuff on eBay," Lois observed.

"Look like…" Clark squinted at the screen, "Look like it's all… Elvis memorabilia."

"He was the King," Chloe pointed out.

Perry's bank statements weren't anything special. The usual expenses of a man living on his own. Groceries and whatnot.

"Wait," said Lois, "Go back."

Chloe ran her finger over the little dial in the centre of the mouse, and the screen reversed it's trajectory.

"Now back down," said Lois.

Chloe obeyed. Lois bit at her bottom lip, bending over to peer closer.

"That's weird," she muttered.

"What?" said Chloe, "I don't see anything."

"Take a look at these," said Lois, pointing to the screen.

"It's a filling station," said Clark, "He was putting gas in his car… Oh."

"What?" said Chloe, again, "What am I not getting?"

"Perry doesn't have a car," Clark explained, "I met him when he crashed his rental car in Smallville."

"So, why would he need a car in the city?" asked Lois, "Chlo, can you find out where that filling station is?"

"Sure."

Chloe's fingers blurred over the keys and a search engine popped up. She entered the name of the gas station, and quickly found it on a map.

"It's on the outskirts of Metropolis," said Lois, "Nowhere near his home or the Daily Planet."

"Look like he's been making regular trips to the area for the past three weeks," said Chloe.

"Are there warehouses around there?" asked Clark.

More clacking of the keys, and Chloe soon had another map onscreen. She refined the search parameters and found what she was looking for.

"Along here is a series of storage facilities," said Chloe, pointing to a section on the screen, "But none of them are listed for general lease. Hold on…"

She zipped through a few more screens, neatly ducking any security measures put in place, and finally came up with the leasing records from the City Archives.

"LexCorp owns that whole block," said Chloe, "It's listed only as an Industrial site. No details."

"That's it," said Lois, beaming with triumph, "All roads lead back to Lex Luthor."

"Are you sure about this?" asked Chloe, "Lex isn't the type of guy you wanna get mixed up with. Remember what Ollie said about him?"

"You're not gonna go blabbin' on me, are you Chloe?"

"No," said Chloe, though she looked like she dearly wanted to, "This is your job, and I know you don't like people telling you what to do, but… it could be dangerous."

"It's okay, Chloe," said Clark, "I'll look out for her."

The cousins turned to look at him, wearing identical expressions. Like they didn't know what he was talking about.

"Thanks, Smallville," said Lois, with more than a trace of condescension, "But I don't need a babysitter."

"You're not going alone," said Clark.

"Fine," said Lois, "Just stay out of my way."

.

.

.

"Shift changes," said Clark.

"What?"

Lois sat up in her seat. She'd dozed off for a second.

It was nearing midnight. They'd backed the black Jeep into an alley across from the warehouse, hiding it in the shadows. Chloe had provided them both with binoculars primed for night-vision. Clark made a point of not asking why she had them on hand.

Clark flipped Perry's journal open on his lap. He pointed to the passage they'd been working from.

"_3 Rot. Of 4/per…_" Clark read, "Perry was recording the guard changes on the perimeter fence. Three rotations of four guards every four hours."

"Great spot, Smallville," said Lois, "This isn't your first stakeout, is it?"

"That's got to be our window," said Clark, ignoring the sarcasm in her voice, "When they switch shifts, they all gather in that little booth, obviously signing off and signing on. It's no more than a couple of minutes, but that might be all we need."

"Okay, how long until the next switch?"

"Five minutes."

"Let's go."

Lois opened the door and hopped out the car. Clark got out as well, zipping up the dark jacket he was wearing. Chloe had provided it, to cover up the bright red shirt. The only explanation she'd offered was that it was _Oliver's_. Clark assumed this Oliver guy was her boyfriend.

Lois and Clark strolled past the buildings across the street from the warehouse. They were mostly dealerships dealing in Auto Spares, and they were all closed. When they got to the end of the block, they reckoned they were far enough from the booth and crossed the street.

They stuck close to the fence, keeping to the shadows. They could see through the chain link, and Clark spotted the new team of guards crossing the asphalt to relieve the others.

"Check the razor wire down that way," said Clark, pointing round the corner, "Maybe there's a busted section where we can climb over."

"Me?" said Lois, "Why do I have to check?"

"We don't have time for this," Clark hissed.

Lois stuck her tongue out at him and hurried off. Clark waited until he was sure she wouldn't be able to see what he was doing, then took hold of a section of the fence. He grabbed the part where it joined to the corner post, and tugged softly. The fence was made of steel, each link a quarter of an inch thick. Usually it would take a tank to get through it.

Clark was a lot stronger than a mere tank.

Working quickly, he popped the links one by one, creating a three-foot gap near the bottom.

"Psst! Lois!" he called, as softly as possible.

A couple seconds later Lois joined him.

"Was that gap there a minute ago?" she asked.

"I guess Lex isn't too worried about maintenance," said Clark.

Lois just shrugged.

While Clark held the fence open, she got on her hands and knees and scooted through. Clark joined her. They cast a quick glance at the booth, noting that the guards were still inside.

Lois led the way, and they sprinted across the twenty feet of open ground until they came up on the side of the warehouse. There was a large steel door underneath a set of metal steps leading to the roof.

"Hold on," said Clark.

"You know how to pick a lock?" said Lois.

"Maybe we won't have to."

Clark grabbed hold of the handle. He made a show of tugging on it, like he was trying to open it in the normal fashion. Meanwhile, he applied a bit of extra pressure and popped the lock, easing the door open.

"See?" he grinned.

"Shoddiest secret warehouse security I've ever seen," said Lois.

Once through the door, they emerged into a short hallway. It ended in a T-Junction, with another hall running lengthwise across it. They crept up to the end of the hall, and stopped.

"Wait," said Clark, stepping in front of her.

"You know, I'm getting really tired of you taking point," said Lois.

Clark ignored her. He craned forward, and peered around the corner. The hallway ran for about fifty feet in either direction. There were three cameras on each side. Clark put an arm across Lois' body and pushed her flat against the wall.

"Hey!" she protested.

Once he was sure she couldn't see what he was doing, Clark sent out three quick jets of heat vision, neutralising the cameras. Twisting his head, he did the same with the ones on the other side of the hall.

"Cameras," he said.

"Dammit!" Lois cursed, "How are we gonna get past them."

"Wait," said Clark, "I recognise them. They're T-20 models, we used to use them at the station," Clark's voice actually hitched at the lie. _T-20 models? What was that?_ "They don't track movement, so we can duck from one to the other and stay out of view. Follow me."

Moving quickly, with Lois only a step behind, Clark zigzagged across the hall, pretending to avoid the eagle eye of the camera lenses. The first door they came to proved to be a storage closet.

The second was an office. There was a bank of filing cabinets along the wall, but it was securely locked. The same with the desk. Clark was tempted to pop the locks again, but they didn't have much time.

"Let's check the next room," he said.

Jackpot!

When they came through the door, they found themselves in a dark ante-room.

There was a low console, boasting a host of complicated-looking machinery, underneath a large window that looked out over the warehouse floor. And that's where it was…

Clark almost stopped breathing.

Beside him, he heard the sharp hiss of Lois drawing a breath. Then she whistled.

They both took slow, unsteady steps towards the window.

"Is that…?" Lois shook her head in wonder, "It can't be, can it…? But it looks like a…"

"It's a spaceship," said Clark.

"But… that's impossible! There's no such thing."

Clark just shook his head. He knew very well that spaceships existed. Because the ship he was staring at… was his own.

.

.

.


	7. Ship

**Ship**

.

.

.

Clark was so stunned he couldn't move.

His ship!

He'd all but given up hope of ever seeing it again. Ever since the night it disappeared he'd been blaming himself. Thinking that if only he'd tried harder to figure out it's secrets – explored his origins a bit more – not let his father's death lead him to destroying the key - he might have learned something.

Like who he was.

Or why he was on this planet.

Was there a different destiny for him out there? Just waiting?

The ship was tilted, resting on the sharp fins that extended from it's hull. It looked… small… insignificant. Just another piece of machinery.

Except that there was something wholly alien about it.

Just looking at it, you knew… it didn't come from this earth.

Lois must have gotten the same impression, because she headed for the door, shocking Clark into action.

"Lois wait!"

He sprang forward and grabbed her arm.

"Smallville, let me go!" she protested, trying to pull loose, "I wanna see it!"

"Just… think about this for a second," said Clark, "We don't know what that is, or what'll happen if we open the door. There could be alarms… guards…"

"Well, there's only one way to find out, isn't there?"

Ripping her arm free, Lois crossed the three feet to the connecting door and pulled it open.

Clark expected the wailing blare of an alarm going off, but it never came. Instead, it was like he was hit by a tidal wave of raw, malicious energy.

The minute the door opened, something seeped inside him, and set his blood alight.

Clark tried to scream, but all that escaped was a hoarse croak as his legs went out from under him.

Lois didn't even notice. She only had eyes for the ship, expecting Clark to follow. Except he couldn't. He was busy choking on his own bile as the pain grabbed at his heart and squeezed.

Far too late, Clark remembered one other note from Perry's stakeout of the site.

_Lead._

They'd shipped in lead… obviously to contain the effects of the meteor rocks.

Fighting the urge to pass out, and ignoring the screaming in his head, Clark planted his hands on the floor, and tried to drag himself to the door. The short gap seemed to yawn in front of him, like an uncrossable chasm – but he hoped that if he could just make it to the door, he could get Lois' attention.

Every movement drew a grunt of pain.

Sweat was already dripping off him, coating the stone floor.

His legs were dead weights being dragged behind him as he edged closer… a few inches at a time.

He reached the threshold, blinking back the salty drops of sweat that stung his eyes. Lois was on her knees in front of the ship. She had her hand out, almost reverentially, running it over the surface of the ship.

Clark knew what she was feeling.

Whatever the ship was made of, it gave off tiny jolts of static up to two inches above the surface. Just being close to it made your whole body hum.

"Lois…" he tried to call, but the word seemed to get lost in the cavernous room, "Lois…"

Then Clark saw it.

Beyond the ship, a section of the wall seemed to open up.

A hidden door.

Two figures emerged from it. They were right in Lois' line of sight, if she would just raise her head.

But she didn't. She was so fixated on the ship, she didn't see the men making their slow way across the floor.

They were clad in black – dressed like the guards outside. One of them raised his arm, and made a sweeping motion. The other started crabbing sideways, slow and deliberate. Then they both raised their arms, and the fire in Clark's blood was suddenly doused with ice.

Guns!

Machine pistols by the look of them.

The guards hadn't spotted him yet – their sights were trained on Lois.

There was no time for thought.

No time for pain.

He just acted.

The meteor infection was still very much alive inside him – roiling and raging and shredding his veins with knives of fire – but Clark ignored it.

His senses seemed to sharpen, and he saw the first guard's finger tighten on the trigger.

He thought maybe he screamed, but he couldn't be sure. Instead, he just dug the tips of his toes into the grading of the floor and took off.

Sound muffled as he went supersonic. The explosion of the gun sounded like a sputtering cough.

Clark tracked the bullet with his eyes as it tore at the air, on it's inevitable trajectory – straight at Lois' head. He fought against the heaviness of the air, that had become like a pool of water, slowing him down.

One step, two, three…

And all the while the bullet was getting closer.

In the tiniest fraction of a second, Clark panicked.

He wasn't going to make it.

He took one last despairing lunge, and dived.

He threw out a hand, grabbing Lois by the shoulder, pulling her downward, just as the bullet whipped past the space where her head would have been. As they hit the ground, Clark felt a twinge on his arm, but, again, he ignored it.

The danger wasn't over.

Even as Lois' cry of surprise echoed out, Clark saw the second guard tracking his weapon to compensate for their move.

Concentrating on the tip of the barrel, Clark summoned a rage that shot from his eyes in a blast of heat that blew the gun to pieces. The gunpowder in the bullets must have ignited, because the gun went up in a blaze, and the guard fell back, screaming in pain.

Clark tilted his head, and saw the first guard converging on them.

He used his left arm to get a grip on the fin of the ship, and again felt a pull of sharp pain in his upper arm. Gritting his teeth, trying his best to compensate for the awkward angle, Clark hoisted the ship and tossed it.

It careened through the air, end of over end, and caught the guard a glancing blow to the side of the head.

It was enough.

The man was thrown a good fifteen feet and crumpled into a heap.

Clark was finished.

It felt like he'd run a marathon.

Two marathons – back to back, and the pain had now coalesced so that it felt like his whole body was throbbing.

"Clark? What the hell?"

Lois was trying to drag herself out from where he'd pinned her to the floor. Clark couldn't move.

"Oh, my God!" she yelled, "You've been shot!"

Now Clark noticed the dark blood pumping from his arm and spreading in a still pool underneath his body. He just watched it for a long minute, almost fascinated by the way it oozed out.

Lois managed to free herself and get to her feet.

She spared the unlucky guards only the briefest glance, before she grabbed Clark underneath his armpits, and tried to heave him up.

Clark's boots scrabbled at the floor – and he almost lost his footing – but with Lois' help, he managed to make it to his feet.

His vision swam and he almost passed out.

"Come on, hang in there…" Lois urged, "We gotta go."

If the race to beat the bullet seemed to take an age, the trip back felt even longer. Clark just stared at the floor, unable to lift his head. The effects of the meteor rocks weighed down on him like a mountain on his back. He just kept trying to put one foot in front of the other, his arm slung around Lois for support.

Once through the door, Clark just managed to mutter… "Close… close it." before collapsing against the wall.

Lois wrenched on the door and shut it with a bang.

Like a thread being cut, the assault of the meteor rocks was severed. But Clark still felt so weak – like a newborn trying to walk.

Lois had to help him regain his feet, and together they made their way outside.

The reached the exterior door in time to see the perimeter guards charging for the front entrance. Grateful for the distraction, they crossed the lot, and used the same break in the fence to get out.

Only once they were back in the car, did Clark allow the darkness to take him.

.

.

.

.


	8. Truth

_This one's for Doc..._

_Thanks for making my birthday feel like a big deal._

_._

_._

**Truth**

.

.

.

Clark sat very, very still.

The bandage around his arm was tight, but he barely noticed it. He kept his eyes on Lois, watching for any kind of hint as to what she was thinking.

They were in her apartment.

It was a loft, near the river, just a few blocks from Chloe's. The furniture was minimal, but stylish. And it had a wrap-around balcony, where the view of Metropolis over the water could take your breath away.

Except Clark saw none of it.

He'd only passed out for a couple of minutes, and was already feeling better when he came to. Lois had wanted to take him to the hospital immediately, but Clark had begged her not to.

Lois agreed.

Far too quickly.

That was when he started to get worried.

He was still weak, and the slice in his arm where the bullet had grazed him hadn't sealed itself by the time they reached Lois' place.

Clark was grateful for that. He'd already exposed his abilities – he didn't need to freak her out any more.

Except…

Except she wasn't freaking out.

Clark was perched on the edge of her couch. Lois was seated on the coffee table in front of him, her emergency medical kit still open beside her. They were both leaning forward, their hands on their knees.

Their faces were inches apart.

"How did you do that?" she asked, after the longest silence in the history of Clark's life.

Clark said nothing. He kept his gaze steady – green eyes locked to softest hazel, flecked with gold.

"You tossed that thing like it was a toy," she said, "That's impossible. And that guy's gun… you blew it up, didn't you? Somehow you… you…"

Clark just nodded.

Why couldn't he read her?

There was no inflection in her voice – no flash in her eyes, nothing that told how she felt about any of this.

He wanted to tell her.

Everything.

Lay himself bare.

But the words wouldn't come. They were caught somewhere between his heart and his head and he felt like crying.

"Smallville…" she whispered, "Please, just… tell me."

For the first time, Clark couldn't look at her. The sound of that name on her lips clamped his eyes shut before the tears could escape.

When he opened them again, he trained them on the floor, and just started speaking:

"That was my ship," he said, amazed that his voice didn't crack. It disappeared just before Lex pulled out of Smallville. I don't know how… I don't know why… I didn't expect to see it again. Lex drew it to him somehow. And he's going to find a way to use it."

"What do you mean _your_ ship?"

Typical reporter!

She would go for the hard question.

"I'm an alien, Lois," he said, "I was sent to this planet when I was a baby. I was raised in Smallville – it's the only life I've ever known, but… I have… abilities. Strength… speed… fire from my eyes… I know you want to freak out right about now, but…"

"I'm not freaking out."

"What?"

Clark's head snapped up.

She was still so close… so calm.

There was no fear… no judgement in her gaze.

"I'm not freaking out," she said, again, "Granted, it probably hasn't hit me yet – and I'm not entirely certain I believe you, but I saw what I saw."

"You're not freaking out?"

"You're gonna stay fixated on that, aren't you?"

She offered him a smile. It was gentle. It was genuine – and Clark felt like he was in a room built of meteor rock all over again.

"Everybody else did," he croaked, "My old girlfriend… I told her the night of our senior prom. We were going to run away together… Get out of Smallville. But I didn't want us to start a life on a lie. I wanted her to know… everything. I wanted her to know me."

"What happened?" asked Lois.

Almost on impulse, she reached for his hand.

Her touch was cool, and soft. Clark relished it.

"She cried," he said, in the voice of one who couldn't imagine a more terrible thing, "She called me a freak. Told me I… I wrecked her dreams. And then she left. I haven't seen her again."

It was all too much.

By the end of this, burning tears were leaking down Clark's cheeks. Lois reached up, and wiped them away.

She was crying too.

"I'm so sorry…" she said, "I can't believe that happened to you."

Clark tried to speak, but words had fled him. He felt drained, empty and, curiously, alive.

She'd reacted in a way he'd never dreamed.

Seen the truth of who he was, and she didn't care.

Sitting this close to her… so close the perfume of her hair was like an elixir that filled every part of him, Clark could barely believe that she was real.

They shed their tears together, and through it all, she kept smiling.

A smile for him.

He remembered that other Lois, the one who fought her way across dimensions to find her love, and the moment she'd described:

"_A new smile was born on his face that day. _

_A smile she'd never seen before._

_A smile for me."_

Suddenly, fiercely, Clark knew what she'd meant. He was seeing it himself – a smile born of a pure heart on the face of someone that he…

That he loved.

He kissed her.

He had to.

Like a magnet, a force beyond reckoning, he felt something pulling him towards her, and he caught her lips with the softest brush of his own.

All the fear and the loneliness he'd ever felt just disappeared with that one, sweet… magical kiss.

Lois broke it.

Like she'd been touched by a livewire, she shot to her feet in her rush to get away from him. Clark was so surprised, he couldn't move for a second.

"Oh, God… Oh, Clark, I'm so sorry…" she moaned.

What?

Clark blinked.

Lois stood a few feet away, her hand clutched to her mouth and a look of pure horror on her face.

This couldn't be happening.

What was happening?

"Lois, why…?"

"I'm so sorry," she said again, "I should have told you…"

"Wha–? Told me what?"

"I… I'm engaged."

.

.

.

.


	9. Blood

**Blood**

.

.

.

The room was filled with light, even as the clock crept it's way to midnight.

LexCorp Tower was the tallest building in Metropolis, so the light that filled the suite of Lex Luthor's office wasn't the ruddy artificial light of the surrounding buildings, but the brilliant glow of the moon itself. Only here was it truly visible above the smog of the city.

The man himself was slender, with his jacket draped over the back of his plush leather chair. His hair was a deep, rich sienna, and piled in curls like that of an ancient Greek king. His grey eyes, set deep over lean, patrician features, were focused on the slim screen of the computer on his desk.

It was playing a video feed, and Lex was enraptured.

When the video reached the end of the loop, he played it again. And again…

The first time the video was shown to him, Lex demanded every kind of verification, including witness testimony from the site.

How else could he explain what he was seeing?

A man who could shoot fire from his eyes and toss a ship that weighed a ton like a Frisbee.

_Incredible!_

Lex didn't look up when he heard the swish of the doors opening, and ignored the tall, attractive woman who strode across the marble floor to his desk, the click of her heels sending out a steady staccato rhythm.

He only glanced away when she placed a long, flat mahogany box on the desk in front of him.

"Is this it?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," she responded.

"All of it?"

"Everything we could gather."

"And she's being flown in?"

"We picked her up an hour ago, sir."

"Good."

Lex smiled.

The woman shivered.

"Sir?" she began, "The guards…"

"Oh, yes," Lex waved a dismissive hand, "Pensions to the families, and our condolences… You know the drill."

"But… sir…" she frowned, "The men aren't dead, sir. They were injured, yes, but…"

She broke off when Lex's reptilian gaze snapped onto her. She bit her lip, and nodded.

"Yes, sir," she said, "I understand, sir."

Lex swept his gaze back to the computer, and she took her cue, hurrying briskly out of the office.

Lex waited until she was gone, then slid the case over so it was directly in front of him. Slowly, almost reverentially, he opened the lid.

The inside was lined with velvet. On the soft bed it made, was a single vial. Lex lifted it up, swivelling his chair so the vial caught the light spilling through the window. The contents seemed to be some kind of hardened ooze, congealed at the bottom.

Still, it was enough…

More than enough blood.

.

.

.


	10. Awkward

**Awkward**

.

.

.

For the first time since setting foot in Lois' apartment, Clark took a look around. A proper look around.

That's when he noticed it.

That's when he wished he could smack himself straight in the mouth.

There were hints everywhere.

The men's jacket on the coat rack by the door.

The copies of FHM magazine splayed on the coffee table.

The worn-in Lay-Zee-Boy chair that didn't match the rest of the furniture.

And, of course, the photographs. Several on the wall, the bookcase, one right over the TV…

Lois and another guy.

He was handsome, smiling in all of them. He was also hugging or kissing Lois in all of them, so Clark saw no real reason why he _shouldn't_ be smiling.

Clark also recognised him.

"Of course you're engaged," he laughed, a bitter, bitter laugh, "And to a good-looking, well-travelled billionaire…"

Lois still looked mortified, so Clark tried to offer her a smile. He tried so hard.

"Oliver Queen's a lucky guy."

"That's what I keep telling him," said Lois, trying to smile back.

"I just… I figured the way Chloe talked about him, that the two of them…"

"Chloe and Oliver?" Lois snorted, "No. She just works for him."

"Okay," Clark nodded, "I'm really sorry, Lois."

"Don't be," she said, "How could you know?"

"I couldn't. You're not wearing a ring, so…"

"We had to get it resized," she explained, "He only proposed a couple of weeks ago, and then he got called away to Lisbon on business, and I'm always busy, and…"

She trailed off.

Suddenly, there was tension between them where there hadn't been before.

Clark managed to stand it for five second before he made a beeline for the door.

"Where are you going?" Lois demanded.

"I should get home," he said.

"Clark… we came with my car. It's a three hour drive."

"So, I'll run."

"All the way to Smallville? You can do that?"

Clark just shrugged, and grabbed the handle. Lois rushed across to him.

"No, please… don't leave like this."

She clutched her hand over his, and Clark felt that same spark shoot straight through him. But this time, it wasn't terrifyingly exciting… it felt like a razor blade slicing his heart.

"Lois, please…"

"No!"

She let go of his hand, instead grabbing him by the shoulders and spinning him away from the door.

"I know you're feeling embarrassed," she said, "I am too, but we can talk about it."

"Why?"

"Because we still have to work together," she said, "We still have to find Perry."

"I think I can do a better job looking for him by myself," said Clark.

"So, that's where it comes from…"

Lois smirked, and shook her head, suddenly striding away. Instead of leaving, Clark followed her.

"What does that mean?"

"You!" she waved a hand at him, "Your whole… superiority thing."

"My what?"

"The way you act, like you don't need any help. Like you're so capable…"

"I'm sorry," said Clark, "But can you run faster than the speed of sound and see through walls?"

"You can see through walls?"

"Yes."

"So what are you? The town Sheriff, or the town pervert?"

"Excuse me?"

"I don't care how many… special… powers you have!" she told him, "One thing you lack, is a brain, and that's what's gonna find Perry. Unless you intend to peek into every building in Metropolis."

"If I have to, that's what I'll do," Clark declared, obstinate.

"See? No brain," said Lois.

"God!" Clark threw up his hands, "How the hell did we get here?"

"Where?"

"Here! From… whatever the hell that was... to fighting inside ten seconds?"

"I don't know, you bring it out in me, I guess."

"And you think that'll make us good partners?"

"Maybe," said Lois, "Because I won't be afraid to tell you when you're being an obnoxious jerk."

"Fine!" said Clark, "As long as you don't mind me telling you when you're a stuck-up bit-"

Clark swallowed the end of that word before he could say it. Lois cocked an eyebrow.

"Go ahead, Clark, you can say it… _bitch!_"

"Er… no," Clark shook his head, "No, I can't."

Lois burst out laughing. Clark frowned.

"What's so funny?"

"You!"

It was the only thing she could manage, because she was laughing too hard. Waves of hilarity that just wouldn't end. At first, Clark just stared at her – wondering when he'd stepped onto Candid Camera. Then, when Lois didn't stop, he found himself smiling… then giggling. Before he knew it, he was laughing too.

"You're like… the strongest man in the world…" said Lois, gasping for air, "And you can't say _bitch_."

"It's not a nice word!"

That set Lois off again. She cackled away, clutching her stomach as she collapsed onto the couch.

Clark tottered back a couple of steps until his back hit the wall. He just watched her as he let the laughter take him, until he felt drained.

Slowly, the mirth faded.

"You are so like her…" he said.

"What?" Lois sat up, "Like who?"

"There's something else I need to tell you," Clark admitted, "It's… it's part of the reason I kissed you."

"Okay…"

"There was this… this woman, that I met," he began, "I think I need to tell you her story. Well… not just her story, but his story too. Their story, really…"

"Clark," Lois cut him off, "You're blabbering like a mental patient. Who was she?"

Clark smiled, but this time it was laced with sadness.

"She was… you."

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.


	11. Jasmine

**Jasmine**

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.

"Lois…?"

Clark stepped through the door, his breath hitching at the sweet taste of the night air. Lois' building had a rooftop garden, broad, and flat, studded with stone flowerpots that formed a maze to the centre, where there stood a group of low benches. Lois was perched on the edge of one of them, her chin cupped in her upturned palm, lost in thought.

"Lois…?" Clark said again.

He made his way through the flowered maze. It smelled rich, and tangy… very pleasant.

"What are flowers are these?" he asked, "They're nice."

"Jasmine," said Lois, "Night blooming."

"You okay?" he asked, "You've been up here for almost an hour."

"I'm fine," said Lois, flicking a smile that was almost sincere.

"No, you're not," said Clark, "I can tell."

"Don't do that," she said, launching herself from the bench and stepping away.

"Do what?" asked Clark.

"Don't… don't act like you know me."

She faced him, her arms folded across her chest, wearing a guarded expression. Clark sighed.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I just… I thought you should know about her."

"No, I'm sorry," said Lois, taking a deep lungful of the perfumed air, "Of all the things I learned tonight… I didn't think _this_ would send me over the edge."

"To be honest, I didn't feel any better when she told me about my double," said Clark, "And it only got worse when she described… _who_ he was. This… hero. This… champion. That's not me. I don't think it can ever be me."

"Well, you saved my life tonight," said Lois, "Sounds like a hero to me."

"I just acted," Clark shrugged, "I saw the gun, and… I acted. There's nothing heroic in that."

Lois chuckled.

"You said this… meteor rock hurts you?" she said, "It makes you sick? Like you can't move?"

"Yes."

"So… with that stuff tearing through you, you still pushed me out of the way and took the bullet yourself. I dunno, Smallville… that's pretty heroic. Stupid, but heroic."

Clark grinned – like a child being praised by a favourite teacher. Lois frowned.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing, you just… called me Smallville again."

"That was her nickname for you? I mean... him?"

"Yeah."

"It's so weird," Lois muttered, "I mean… the way you described it… they were soulmates."

"I guess they were."

Clark started winding his way through the maze again, heading for the edge of the roof. The lights along the riverfront cast glittering diamonds on the water.

"I hope it worked," he said, "I hope she found her way back to him."

"You didn't have to help her, you know," Lois pointed out, "I could tell from the way you talked, that… you were crazy about her. You didn't have to send her away."

"Yes, I did," said Clark, "She wasn't mine."

_And neither are you, _he thought, but he kept that to himself.

Instead, he planted his hands on the lip of the low wall ringing the roof, and just lost himself in the vista before him. Soon, Lois joined him. The wind picked up, and she shivered, tucking in closer to his body so that he blocked the wind. Clark smiled.

"So, what do we do now?" he asked, "Lex has my ship. He's got to be up to something."

"There's one way we can find out," said Lois.

Clark tilted his head, throwing her a questioning glance.

"I was just thinking… with all the stuff you can do… we might be able to go to the source."

"The source?"

Lois nodded at a point on the horison. Clark followed her gaze, until his eyes came to rest on the glittering arc of LexCorp Tower.

"That's gonna be suicide," he said, "Forget the security at the plant. Lex's private office will be guarded tighter than Fort Knox."

"You could break into Fort Knox, couldn't you?" she teased.

Clark clicked his tongue at her, "I'm serious."

"So am I," she said, giving him a gentle bump with her hip, "Come on, Smallville… where's your sense of adventure?"

Clark stared at her. In telling her the story, he was careful to relate how there were some subtle differences between the two Lois' he'd met. Nothing very obvious, but differences nonetheless.

The smile on her face was familiar though.

The last time he'd seen it, the other Lois had stolen his saddle and bridle and tried to ride a cow – because she'd never been to a rodeo.

It was a smile that spoke of mischief, and trouble ahead.

"Fine," he sighed, "What do we do?"

.

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	12. Ringer

**Ringer**

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Cassidy Freeman had been Lex Luthor's assistant for three years. It wasn't a job that came with a lot of security. Money, sure, bucket loads of it, but not security. Lex was a fickle man, prone to mood swings that ended with those who displeased him disappearing.

Cassidy had held the job as long as she had because of two distinct talents; she had a razor sharp mind, and the ability to keep her mouth shut.

When Lex _persuaded_ the new town planning commissioner to drop his crusade against LexCorp expansion projects – through creative application of pliers and a livewire – she kept her silence.

When the head of the newly formed LexCorp Workers' Union caved to management demands after finding out what the business end of a kitana through the foot feels like, she didn't breathe a word.

And yet… she had to question Lex's latest scheme. Even for him it was too… out there. Too risky.

She turned to her boss, who stared through the viewing window at the meticulously appointed laboratory, deep in the sub-basement of LexCorp Tower. Lex's expression was guarded, as usual, and only his eyes moved as he watched the woman on the other side of the glass.

"Are you sure about this, sir?" asked Cassidy, at last, unable to hold her counsel any longer.

"Am I sure?" still, Lex did not move, and she caught the amusement in his voice.

"She seems unstable," Cassidy explained, "How can you be certain she'll pull it off?"

"She's very unstable. I believe the term is dissociative personality disorder," now Lex looked at her. He was smiling. "She's a sociopath."

"And you're trusting her with this?"

"Yes," Lex returned his gaze to the ministrations of the woman in the lab, "Because she's the best. My needs are very specific, and I know of no one else who could bring my plans to fruition."

Cassidy nodded, though she remained unconvinced. She followed Lex's stare and watched the woman. She was a strange one, that's for sure. Cassidy herself had picked her up from the airport the night before. The woman dressed like a stereotypical scientist – or, at least, one from a 50's B-movie. Long tan coat, frayed at the collar, a frumpy dress and sensible flat shoes. Her hair, too, was done up in an untidy bun at the top of her head, like the only concern she had was to keep it out of her eyes, and no thought given to pleasing aesthetics. Cassidy herself was a beautiful woman, taking pride in her mane of deep red hair and shapely figure. As such, she couldn't understand why this woman looked like she couldn't give a damn about her appearance. With a minimum of effort she could be very attractive. Striking, in fact. Gorgeous.

She'd also refused to be shown to the apartment LexCorp had provided for her, insisting instead that she be brought straight to the lab. That was twelve hours ago, and she'd been puttering around, looking at things under microscopes, entering data into the vast bank of computers and taking copious notes ever since.

"What is she saying?" asked Cassidy.

In lieu of an answer, Lex reached forward and tapped a button on a panel beside the viewing window. Microphones placed inside the lab picked up the woman's words, and piped them through speakers in the viewing room.

She was muttering, and all they picked up were scattered fragments:

"…_thymadines not replaced by uracil…"_

"…_hydrogen bonds closer in comparison to molecular density of neutron stars…"_

"…_excessive replication as a result of exposure to radiation…"_

"…_gets stronger, infinitely…. Fascinating."_

Lex pressed another button, and leaned closer to the little microphone above the panel.

"Any progress?" he asked.

The woman jumped. Cassidy was sure she'd forgotten they were there. She turned around, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear in a gesture of annoyance. Her mouth was pulled into a strange, thin line. It made her look constipated. With horror, Cassidy realised the woman was smiling.

"This is adequate for a base solution," she said in her high, almost-whiny voice, "I've mapped the DNA construct and I'm confident we can construct a sufficient environment that will spawn mitosis."

"Excellent," Lex seemed pleased.

"However…"

"Yes?"

"You understand we will need the specimen in order to generate a viable serum?"

"I understand."

"You also understand the difficulties involved in…"

"There's no need to concern yourself, doctor," Lex smiled a reptilian smile, "You will have your specimen within the next twenty-four hours."

"She will?" Cassidy was startled, "But… how?"

Lex's smile didn't waver. If anything, it grew more repugnant.

"He'll deliver himself to us," he said.

.

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	13. Inside

**Inside**

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.

"Ow!"

"Will you keep your voice down?"

"Will you get your foot out of my face?"

"You are such a baby!"

"And you're heavy!"

"Are you calling me fat?"

"You got that from heavy? Wow, I'm impressed."

"Oh, why don't you just…?"

"Move, will ya?"

Clark knew it was probably the least covert infiltration of a building in history. Not to mention cliché. Lois had persuaded him to use his strength to pop the solid steel grate covering the ventilation shaft that ducked out of LexCorp Tower over the banks of the river. It was a tight squeeze, especially for Clark, as they crabbed their way through the twisting, constricted tunnel. He wasn't helped by the fact that, on several occasions, the shaft would jut sharply upwards at a 90 degree angle before continuing deeper into the bowels of the building. Whenever they hit one of these walls, Lois would stand on him and lever herself up. Didn't hurt, but that was hardly the point.

"I see light up ahead," Lois's voice echoed back to him, "I think we're inside the building now. Be quiet."

"_Me_ be quiet?" Clark muttered under his breath, "_You_ be quiet. If that's even possible. Haven't shut up since the moment we met. Always gotta be filling the air with your voice. Always gotta…"

"_Ssh!"_

Clark shushed.

Lois slowed down, and it was only Clark's super hearing that allowed him to pick up the soft scraping of her knees and palms on the metal underside of the shaft as she inched forward. Clark kept his eyes down so he wouldn't have to look at the way her shapely rear undulated in her tight jeans.

They approached a grate on the right, made up of several horizontal slats that allowed tiny strips of light to filter in. They could also look out. Lois pressed her eye to the aperture.

"I think it's a hallway," she said, "But I can't really make anything out."

"It's a hallway," said Clark, "Four doors on the far side. There's someone two doors up. I think it's a cleaner."

"How do you know that?"

"Did you forget about the _seeing through walls_ part?"

Lois pulled a face and carried on. They kept extra quiet as they passed the cleaner, and the man took no notice. Eventually, the vent curved to the left. Lois scooted round first, then stopped.

"What's wrong?" asked Clark.

"Dead end."

"Let me through."

Lois tried to move back just as Clark tried to come forward. The vent was too narrow in any case, and the curve only complicated the situation. They both had to stretch out, with Clark weaving his arms around Lois so he could plant his hands against the wall behind her and try to pull himself forward. Their bodies were squeezed together and they wriggled and writhed, trying to manoeuvre in opposite directions.

It didn't go well.

Anyone standing under the vent would have been able to eavesdrop on a very strange conversation.

"_Ow!"_

"_Your hair's getting in my mouth!"_

"_Well, spit it out!"_

"_There's too much of it!"_

"_That's my boob!"_

"_Is it?"_

"_You're not moving your hand!"_

"_I'm not?"_

At last, Clark managed to slither past her, so he was faced with the steel gate bolted to the end of the shaft. He gave it a light tap and it popped out of it's sockets with a loud bang, and went careening across the floor. Clark winced at the noise.

"Nice going, Mata Hari," Lois hissed.

"Save it!" said Clark.

Another quick scan with his x-ray vision assured him that no one was coming to investigate the noise. The little hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Something was wrong. He just didn't know what. Lois was pushing at his legs from behind, so he folded his hands over the edge of the shaft and pulled himself forward until his torso hung out in open space. He was about to reverse his hands, so he could curl out like a gymnast coming down off the rings, when Lois shoved him again.

There was no readily available super-ability to save him this time. He lost his grip, gravity took hold, and he went sprawling out of the shaft head first. He cracked the floor when he landed.

Clark snarled as he got to his feet and dusted himself off. He turned back to face the shaft and saw Lois grinning at him.

"Help me out," she said, stretching out her arms and wagging her fingers in a _c'mere _gesture. Clark folded his arms.

"No," he said.

"Clark!"

"No!"

"You didn't get hurt."

"So?"

"So what's the big deal?"

"You think that makes it right?"

"You are such a child."

"You pushed me! You're the last to lecture on maturity."

"Do you want to stand here arguing all night, or do you want to get this done?"

"Fine!"

Clark reached up, using every inch of his six foot five frame, grabbed her wrists and tugged. Lois yelped as she shot out of the shaft like a torpedo. There was a whoosh, the world tipped the wrong way around for a second and then she fell into the cradle of Clark's arms with a gentle plop.

"Put me down," she commanded.

Clark dropped her.

He ignored her mumbled curses from the floor and did another x-ray. No one. No cameras either.

This was far too easy.

The corridor ended in a big metal door with a push-bar. The stairs. Clark headed for it. He pressed on the bar and the door clunked open. He stepped into the empty stairwell.

"Up or down?" he asked, as Lois joined him.

"Does this place have a basement?"

Clark looked down. He squinted, and the floor seemed to peel away, exposing the level below. Then the one below that, and the one below that…

"It's got three," said Clark, "From what I can tell."

"If Perry's here, they wouldn't be keeping him above ground," Lois reasoned, "This is still an office building, and Lex couldn't risk a random employee spotting him."

"Down it is," said Clark.

They hustled down the stairs. Clark set a quick pace, and was surprised when Lois kept up with him. He was even more impressed when she didn't complain. The upward trajectory of the ventilation shaft meant they'd come out on the second floor. Two flights down and Clark kept going. He was thinking of a story the other Lois had told him, about an experiment started by Lex's father, Lionel: 33.1. The secret third basement at LuthorCorp.

He was hoping some of that cosmic resonance, that mirroring of worlds, would happen again, and Lex would use the same strategy. Finally, they reached the bottom. Again, Clark x-rayed the door. Nothing but another empty hallway stretching out on the other side. But this time, there were cameras.

Clark stepped up to the door and opened it a crack. He used the gap to shoot two quick blasts of heat and take out the cameras pointed at the door. Then he opened the door all the way.

This hallway was different to the ones above ground. The floor, walls and ceiling were covered with something that looked like tile, but felt like rubber. They made absolutely no noise as they walked. In fact, sound seemed muffled, and the air had the consistency of gauze.

"Creepy," said Lois in a throaty whisper.

Clark nodded. He felt it too. There were no doors, just this long tunnel, and it was almost like the walls were pressing in on them. Clark noticed, too, that it wasn't straight. It curved, ever so slightly, so they couldn't see the end.

"This is wrong," said Clark, after a good hundred feet, "It's too long. Feels like we're out from under the building."

"Yeah," said Lois, "I wonder where we are."

They didn't get to speculate any further because, all of a sudden, the hallway came to an end. But there was no door. There wasn't anything. Just a wall.

"The hell?" said Lois.

She put her hands to the wall, running her palms over the surface, checking for any minute cracks that might indicate a hidden doorway. Something. Clark engaged his x-ray vision again, but got only darkness. He swallowed.

Lead.

"Lois…" he said, "I think we better go."

"Why?"

Clark never got the chance to answer.

Suddenly, there was a distinct, insistent buzzing sound, and then the walls seemed to come alive. Tiny green sparks rippled along their surface, tinting the air itself. Molten fire bloomed in Clark's bloodstream and he cried out as the pain struck. He fell to his knees, clutching his head as blood oozed out of his ears.

"Clark!" Lois shrieked, falling to her knees by his side, "Clark! What's happening?"

"Lois…"

He couldn't speak anymore. His tongue felt like sandpaper, and it was like someone had poured hot sand down his throat. His lungs burned. His heart jackhammered in his chest.

Lois could only watch, terrified, as Clark writhed on the floor, moaning like a dying kitten.

Meteor rocks. It had to be. Lex had somehow laced the entire corridor with the stuff.

She heard a sound, like air rushing from a burst valve, and the wall behind her started to move. It rolled up into the ceiling, like something out of a _Star Trek _film. Still clutching at Clark's jacket, Lois craned her neck backwards to take a look.

A shadow appeared in the opening.

A tall man with a mop of curly red hair and a smile like a snake.

"I'm Lex Luthor," he said, his tone exceedingly genial, "I've been expecting you."

.

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	14. Office

**Office**

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For Lois, waking up wasn't like emerging from a long, dark tunnel. It was like being violently sucked out the wrong end of a vacuum cleaner.

She lurched into consciousness, an insane headache already tearing at her brain like poisoned, fire-tipped claws slicing through her skull. The light hurt her eyes, so she kept them shut tight, desperately trying to will away the pain.

It didn't work. She moaned.

"Lois?"

Still, she didn't open her eyes. She felt sick. Bile was rising in her gullet, like a dam about to burst. She tried to swallow, but that only made her feel worse.

"Lois, open your eyes."

She groaned.

"Lois!"

Oh, God! Why did he have to scream?

"Please… please…" she begged.

Gamely, she forced her eyes open. The light stabbed in, but she just blinked rapidly and it's intensity faded. Shapes emerged. At first, blurred and indistinct, but gradually they came into focus.

She was in… an office.

Most of one wall was dominated by floor to ceiling windows, offering spectacular views of the city. There was a desk, set at an angle in the corner, and a large hardwood bookcase next to the couch she found herself on.

Why was she on a couch? And who was…?

"Lois? Are you okay? Can you sit up?"

It took another few seconds to find the source of the voice. It came from the shadows on the side of the desk furthest from the windows. Lois's head still felt heavy, and her thoughts were scattered and random. But as she raised herself up on one elbow, something about the voice started ringing in her head.

"Perry…?" then, "Perry!"

"Thank God you're okay."

Now Lois noticed something strange. Or something _else_ that was strange. Perry was sitting on the floor, and it looked like he was hugging the desk.

"What are you doing over there?"

"They chained me to the desk," he explained, "It's bolted to the floor."

"What?" Lois shook her head, "They chain you up, but they just leave me on the…?"

"Look at your foot."

Lois looked at her foot. She noticed the cuff. It's chain curled on the floor, while the other cuff was locked to the leg of the couch.

"What the hell?"

Lois swung her feet to the ground and grabbed the underside of the couch. She tugged. It didn't budge.

"Why's all the furniture bolted down?" she asked, "It doesn't make any sense."

"That's not the weird part," said Perry, "Look at the bookcase."

Lois complied. Something about the books was… off. She stood, and after fighting down a sudden wave of vertigo, she managed to stretch out and grab one of the books on the lower shelf. It didn't move. At all. Because it wasn't real.

The books were a cardboard façade, moulded to look like they were resting side by side. Like a painted backdrop for a play.

Her mind reeling, Lois looked around. If she squinted, she could see that there wasn't even a slight gap between the pad on the desk blotter and the blotter itself. Which meant there was no blotter. The whole thing was one solid piece, made to look like a desk where someone actually worked. Perry followed her gaze, and with a wry, sad smirk reached up over his head and flicked a finger at the pen lying on it's side on the surface of the wood. The pen remained where it was.

"A fake office…" she muttered, "Just what the hell is…?"

She noticed something else. A breeze. Too strong to be coming from the door, which was firmly shut. She looked at the windows again, and spotted it. One of the panes bore no tell-tale reflective gleam from the lights, either on the inside or the outside. Because the pane was gone.

"Figured it out yet?" asked Perry.

"Are you kidding?" Lois retorted, "It's taking most of my concentration not to throw up."

Perry managed a smile. Lois gasped. One of his teeth was missing.

"What did they do to you?"

"Just a few knocks," said Perry, "Don't know why they bothered after that drug they used. The feeling will go away in a few minutes. The dry mouth, the burning eyes…"

"So, what's the mystery?" Lois waved a hand at the freaky office.

"You must have heard the rumours," said Perry, "About Lex's old man."

"Lionel?" Lois nodded, "Official story is he killed himself. Jumped from his office window. But some people said…" she broke off as the twisted truth dawned on her. "Oh, God… this isn't…?"

"An exact replica of Lionel's office," said Perry, "I'm guessing down to the last detail. That's the way Lex's mind supposedly works. I can't see everything on the desk, but I saw the crime scene photographs when it happened. Is there a notepad up there?"

"Yes."

"It'll have writing on it. Something about Smallville and some break-ins at the fertiliser plant."

"Lex recreated the office?" Lois was stunned, "Or preserved it, or something? Why would he do that? Do you think the rumours were true?"

"Yes, I do," said Perry, "Like I told you, I saw the photographs, and I spoke to the investigating team. Official word was Luthor Sr. kicked out the window and threw himself at the street – 30 floors down. But that window's too thick for a man to break, even in a rage. And the lead on the case reckoned someone shot out the window. But they never found a gun."

"If that's true, why didn't you publish the story?"

"I can't publish without evidence, Lois," he replied, "A day later everyone in the police department was spewing the official line. I couldn't get a single honest quote. My access to the evidence was severed. Luthor used those deep pockets of his, and suddenly I was the voice in the wilderness."

Lois digested this for a second. Perry White's reputation was legend – and well-earned. For him to back off a story - especially one this sensational – was extraordinary. Lex's cover-up machine was daunting.

Lois studied Perry. He appeared to be okay, despite the bruises on his face and the dried blood caking his hair.

"What happened to you?" she asked, "Last time Clark and I saw you, you were in the cave with us."

Perry opened his mouth to answer, but before he could, Lois blurted out: **"Clark!"**

She shot back to her feet, but she forgot about the ankle cuff. It caught on the couch leg and she fell, smacking her face into the floor. She felt her lip jag on the edge of a tooth and her mouth fill with blood, but she hardly noticed.

"Clark," she said, again, "Did he…? Was he with me? Did you…?"

"I haven't seen him," said Perry, "They brought you in alone."

Lois moaned, and laid her forehead against the cold tile. It helped the headache. A little.

"Why was he even with you?" asked Perry, "What were you doing?"

"Looking for you," said Lois, not lifting her head, "But Lex, he… Oh, God, Perry, he got Clark! He got Clark!"

"Why would Lex even be interested in a Sheriff from Smallville?"

Lois didn't answer. She couldn't. Not because she was trying to protect Clark's secret, or because she didn't trust Perry, or even because the office might be bugged. None of these thoughts even entered her mind.

Only one thought managed that feat.

Clark.

Clark on the floor, in pain, as the meteor rocks slowly fried from him from the inside out.

"Hold on, Clark," she whispered, "Please… please hold on…"

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	15. Torture

**Torture**

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.

.

Clark didn't think he could hold on much longer.

Inch by dripping inch, the life was being drained from him. Literally.

He tried to move his head, but it was hard. He was strung up by his feet. They were hooked in by large steel clamps welded to the ceiling, and all the blood had rushed to his head. What little blood was left.

Two thick needles attached to IV drips had been jammed into the arteries on either side of his neck and taped down. Clark could just about follow the path of the tubes, choked with dark maroon blood, running into what looked like an oversized percolator. It hissed, but over that Clark could almost hear the _'gloop… gloop… gloop' _of his blood oozing into the container.

The pain wasn't as sharp anymore. Instead, it had coalesced, becoming a single oppressive weight, seeming to squeeze at his skin from the inside and the outside all at once. His teeth had started up a painful thrumming, and he resigned himself to short, rushed breaths because anything more and it felt like his lungs would erupt through his chest.

He didn't know where the meteor rocks were – he couldn't see any – but he felt their sinister presence.

He heard a door open – so loud it sounded like metal being ripped apart. When the door slammed shut, Clark's whole body shook. The staccato clap of a woman's footfalls sounded on the tile. Each a thunderstrike to his brain. Upside down, all he could see were her shoes – low-heeled and sensible - and the rough fabric of her equally-sensible dress, ending just above the knee.

Even so, Clark thought she had great legs.

He chuckled. It hurt, but he couldn't help himself. Thinking about her legs at a time like this.

The shoes stopped right in front of him. He tries to raise his head to get a look at her face, but suddenly it was like someone held a livewire to the skin of his neck and he screamed. The woman was twisting the needle in his flesh, trying to loosen a blockage, or something.

The pain choked him. His precarious position made it impossible to draw breath. He tried to fight past the pain, but it was no good. His lungs swelled, desperate for air, but he just couldn't get any down his throat. Lights popped in front of his eyes, followed by a swirling darkness and, just for a second, Clark was sure he was dying.

Then the woman stepped away, and it was like a gate being raised. Air flooded in and he gasped and spluttered. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes and stained the floor.

The door opened again. Just as loud – a jagged spike to the mind. The footsteps were heavier this time, more muffled. A man. He crossed to stand beside the woman. The shoes were leather, and polished to a high gleam.

"Progress?"

The man's voice was somewhat nasal, cut with an arrogance that beggared belief. Clark knew the voice – recognised it from long ago.

Lex.

He heard the woman respond, but she spoke so softly, he couldn't make out the words.

"Not good enough," said Lex, "I want a viable sample within 24 hours."

Again, she spoke, but the words only whispered at the edge of his consciousness. When Lex spoke again, the arrogance in his voice was laced with a cold, terrible anger.

"Well, how much do you need?" he asked, "Why don't we just slice him open? Remove the meteor rocks, allow him to heal a bit, then slice him open again!"

"Because I can't guarantee we won't stop his heart."

Clark felt woozy, swaying between the land of sleep and awake. The woman's voice, now that he heard it properly, was curt and somewhat girlish.

"Fine!" said Lex, "Carry on. But I want hourly updates."

Clark saw him twist on his heels and stride out of the room. He braced himself for the sound of the door, but it did no good. The woman just stood there for a long while. Her shoes were pointing at his way, so Clark knew she was looking at him. Studying him.

Like a specimen.

His greatest fear. The nightmare that had flung him awake so many nights since he first learned he was an alien.

Now it was happening.

Eventually, the woman came towards him again. She stopped a few feet away. Clark tensed, sure she was going to start wrenching on the needles again. As it was, it was like being run through with a sword and then leaving it there, but it was better than the twist.

The woman didn't touch him. Instead, he heard her knees crack as she crouched down to his level, so they were face to face. Clark blinked, trying to clear the tears in his eyes.

He was sure he was dreaming. He must have passed out from the pain, and now his fevered mind was assaulting him with cruel, obscure visions.

Her dark hair was pulled back in a severe bun. Her high, sculpted cheekbones framed eyes that were cold and empty.

"You're getting me in trouble," she said, "Why can't you bleed faster?"

Clark tried to respond, but all that came out was a rough croak.

She tilted her head, like a child examining a curious insect.

"What was that?" she asked.

"Wh– wh– why…?" Clark managed, though the effort made him swoon. He had to ask the question though, before it killed him.

"Why, Lana… why…?"

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	16. Interlude

**Interlude**

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.

.

Clark had his head half buried in his top dresser drawer. Socks, vests, underwear – all came hurtling out past his head to scatter across every inch of his bedroom. Eventually, he ran out of stuff to toss. He grunted in frustration and slammed the drawer. The wood cracked a little. He yanked open the second drawer, and started tearing into it's contents.

"Mom!" he yelled, his voice slightly muffled by mounds of cotton, "I can't find my tie!"

There was no answer. Clark extracted himself from the drawer. A lone white gym sock hung from still-damp hair like a cowlick.

"MOM!" he screamed again, increasingly desperate, "Mom! My tie!"

"Oh, for goodness sake, Clark, it's in your jacket pocket!" came the voice of Martha Kent from downstairs.

"Why's it in my jacket pocket?"

"I put it there so you wouldn't lose it!"

"Well, that plan went swimmingly, don' you think?"

"Clark! Just get dressed!"

Muttering under his breath about sneaky mothers playing games with critical ties on important nights, Clark flung himself down on his bed. His pants were laid out next to him and he grabbed them. Leaning back, like an upturned turtle, he thrust both his legs through at the same time. Arcing his legs back towards the floor, his momentum carried him back up onto his feet.

He stared at himself in the mirror. He stared at the pants. They were on backwards.

_Dammit!_

"Get a grip, Clark!" he told himself.

Didn't do any good. He was nervous. More nervous than he could ever remember being. If everything went according to plan, tonight his life would change.

Forever.

All those dreams he'd secretly nurtured when he wasn't terrified out of his mind would blossom, and thrust themselves towards the sun, like magic taking flight. He would get everything he ever wanted.

He was so distracted with thoughts of bliss, he took off his pants, and then promptly put them on backwards again. But this time he chuckled.

He turned to the window, and carefully parted the drapes.

There, 1.4 miles away, in a little white farmhouse… his future was waiting for him.

.

.

.

1.4 miles away, Lana Lang was humming along to the radio.

She was at her vanity table, perched delicately on a little stool and gazing at herself in the mirror. Her make-up was just right. The product of hours of careful preparation.

It had taken even longer to decide on the colour. A shade away from lilac, to perfectly off-set the deep salmon of her dress.

The dress!

It was a work of art. The bodice was moulded to her slender frame, with an A-line skirt that offered the merest glimpse of her legs but wonderfully showed off the Marc Jacobs shoes she'd be wearing.

She hummed louder.

_Lucky I'm in love with my best friend,_

_Lucky to have been where I have been, _

_Lucky to be coming home again…_

Her eyes drifted left, to the only photograph jammed into the frame of the mirror. The only photo she would dare put up. She hated the way most girls did that. It was so tacky and clutter-y!

But this photo…

Clark, blushing like a shy altar-boy, looking so embarrassed to be wearing the crown. Even if it went perfectly with his letterman jacket. And her, clutching tight to his arm, smiling so wide the top of her head was in danger of falling off. Her own crown glittered from it's perch on her raven tresses.

She opened the little drawer in the dresser and took it out. It still sparkled. Homecoming queen.

She put it back in the drawer.

It would soon be joined by another tonight. She was certain. This wasn't a movie where the plucky underdog suddenly won in the end, and the students started a slow clap that built to tumultuous applause.

No!

Becky Anderson stood no chance.

Tonight, Lana Lang and Clark Kent would be named Smallville High's prom king and queen. It was destiny.

Smiling her perfect smile, Lana decided to let go and sing along…

_They don't know how long it takes, _

_Waiting for love like this._

_Everytime we say goodbye,_

_I wish we had one more kiss…_

_I'll wait for you, _

_I promise you I will…_

_._

_._

_._

Clark switched off the radio.

He hated that song. Far too sickly sweet for his liking. He'd tuned over to a classic rock station, hoping for some early Bon Jovi, Motley Crue, maybe even U2. Or Whitesnake. Yeah, he could use some Whitesnake.

But no luck. Better to leave it off.

At least he was done.

He surveyed himself in the mirror. The tux was cut to perfection, the shirt starched and pressed to a glimmer by his mom. The tie – perfect, eventually. It was just his face…

Was it his imagination, or was his blind, unyielding terror writ large there for all to see?

It was hard to control it. He'd never been this frightened in his life.

This was the biggest step he would ever take, and now…

His thoughts were broken by his mother shouting from downstairs: "Clark! Honey, hurry up! You're going to be late!"

Just to mess with her, he kicked in his super speed and appeared – as if in a blink – right at her side.

"Clark!" she chided him.

He grinned. She grinned back. Then her eyes filled with tears as she looked at him.

"Oh, mom…" he moaned.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" Martha spluttered, "I know I promised I wouldn't, but… Oh, Clark… you just look so… so… so…"

"Breathe, mom, breathe!"

She waved away the advice and gave herself over to the tears. It was a mother's prerogative, after all. All his life Clark had worried he wouldn't fit in, and it tore at her that she couldn't help him more. But tonight, it wasn't a problem. Tonight, he would stand out for all the right reasons.

"Your father's just about done with the truck," said Martha.

Clark glanced through the open door to the yard, where Jonathan Kent was fastidiously wiping at a speck of dirt on the grill of the family truck. Clark had wanted to clean the car himself, but Jonathan insisted. He wanted to do it for his son on prom night.

That was just the kind of man he was.

"Okay," Clark punched out a long, deep breath, "Guess I should go."

"Have you got the corsage?"

Another burst of super-speed. "Got it."

"Camera?"

Again, super speed. "Got it."

"Good. Enjoy yourself."

"I will, mom. Thanks."

Clark gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and hustled outside. Jonathan straightened when he saw him approach.

"Looking fine, son."

The beaming pride in his dad's smile actually banished Clark's own fears for a second, and he allowed himself to smile too. But it didn't last long, and soon the worried frown was back.

Jonathan must have noted the look, because he was soon in default 'parental concern' mode.

"Are you sure about this, Clark?" he asked, "You don't have to do it."

"I think I do, dad," said Clark, "Not just for Lana, but… for me. I can't keep hiding forever."

"No, you can't," Jonathan agreed, "That's not what your mom and I wanted for you."

"I know."

"Guess all I can say is good luck," Jonathan held out a hand, "I'm sure everything will be fine."

On impulse, Clark ignored the hand and pulled his father into a fierce hug. He held on just a little too long. When they broke apart Jonathan's eyes, like Martha's, were coated in fond tears.

Clark opened the truck and hopped in. Jonathan waved as he pulled out the gate. Lana's house was only 1.4 miles away, but Clark guessed he had time for some music, if only to settle his nerves. He switched over to the same station he'd been playing in his bedroom.

"Please, Whitesnake…" he begged, "Please, please, please…"

It wasn't Whitesnake. But it was a classic. One of those songs that are so familiar, you never actually listen to the words.

But Clark listened, and felt an unexplainable ache blooming in his chest as the little white farmhouse next door came into view…

_I really need you tonight…_

_Forever's gonna start tonight._

_Once upon a time I was falling in love,_

_Now I'm only failing apart._

_There's nothing I can do,_

_Total eclipse of the heart…_

_._

_._

_._

_Turn around bright eyes…._

_._

_._

_._


	17. Rescue

**Rescue**

(sort of)

.

.

.

They came for them in the middle of the night. Somewhat ironically, it was Lex's own obsession that let them in. Specifically, Lex's warped desire to preserve his father's office on the night he greeted the pavement at terminal velocity.

Lois was asleep, curled on the couch, when she heard a thump. She came instantly awake, sitting bolt upright, and saw the figure that had swooped in through the open window.

The figure rose to his full height - over six foot _(not as tall as Clark, but still, impressive) _– and now she made out the body hugging green leather outfit, complete with hood and sunglasses. Lois blinked, taken completely by surprise. Perry must have woken too, and it was he who asked the question that was on her lips.

"Green Arrow?" he muttered, still drowsy and sore from trying to doze on the floor by the desk, "You're real?"

Green Arrow didn't say anything. Instead, he turned back to the window. He held up the crossbow he was holding, which, Lois saw, was attached to a length of wire that extended out the window and upward out of sight. Presumably to the roof, where it was wedged to the building by a grappling hook. For some odd reason, Green Arrow held the bow out over the ledge and dropped it.

"What are you doing?" asked Lois.

Again, the green clad hero didn't respond. He leaned out, then nodded to himself, as though satisfied.

"How did you find us?" asked Perry.

Green Arrow turned away from the window.

"Affirmative," he said, "Targets located."

"What?" said Lois.

"Commencing extraction now, Watchtower."

"Hey!" Lois clicked her fingers in his direction, "What are you saying?"

"Sorry," said Green Arrow, "I was talking to my partner."

He pulled back his hood slightly, and Lois saw the distinctive bulk of an earpiece. He was wired in to someone else. By the sound of the name – Watchtower – it was a person in a control room somewhere.

"The man asked you a question," said Lois, "How did you find us?"

"Always the reporter," said Green Arrow, striding toward her, "Always with the questions."

"So answer me, and I'll stop."

"I doubt it," the little of his mouth that she could see in the gloom beneath his hood was curled in a smirk, "To answer, though, our resources are formidable. Don't worry, we'll get you out of here."

He bent down in front of her. A small metal tool, that looked like a thick, bent needle, seemed to appear in his hand, and he went to work on the cuff binding her ankle.

A follow-up question appeared to Lois and Perry at the same time. "Who's _we?_" they asked.

Almost in response they heard a muttering from outside the window. Lois noticed that the cord was moving. It seemed to be reeling itself in.

"What the…?"

Soon, she could make out the words: _"…bitch of an idea…! who does this…? …not healthy… thirty goddamn stories…!"_

Seconds later, the Phantom Complainer was revealed. He was shorter than Green Arrow – much shorter – and not nearly as nimble. Clad in leather almost identical to the archer's – but in bright scarlet – the new arrival managed to hook one foot over the sill, and just dangled there, clearly afraid to let go. He spun on the spot, one desperate toe connected to solid ground, just blowing in the open air.

"_Help me help me helpmehelpmehelpme!"_ the young man was on the verge of passing out – not a good idea thirty stories up.

"In a minute," said Green Arrow, apparently unconcerned by his partner's predicament.

"Dammit, Shaft, get over here!"

Still, Green Arrow ignored him. There was a click, and the cuff around Lois's ankle came loose.

"Thank you," she said.

Green Arrow favoured her with a smile, then rose. He turned, and headed across the floor to Perry.

"No!" screeched the Crimson Clinger, "Help ME!"

"Fine…" Green Arrow sighed. He crossed to the window, grabbed a hold of the young man's elbow and tugged. A little too hard. The newcomer went sprawling across the floor. Even so, he appeared to prefer it to hanging out the window.

"Stupid idea!" he said again, standing and dusting himself off, "I told you I shoulda just run up the side of the building."

"We don't know if that would've worked."

"I can run on water."

"Water isn't vertical. Except for rain. Can you run on rain?"

At this stage, Lois had to interrupt. "Wait, who the hell are you?" she asked.

"You haven't heard of me?"

Green Arrow chuckled, and went to free Perry from his chain. Lois just stared at the youngster who, despite the hood and glasses, managed to convey a perfect whipped-puppy look.

"Sorry…?" she said.

"You know what? It's probably coz I don't really operate in Metropolis…"

"Or at all," Green Arrow interjected.

"If you lived in Star City you'd _totally_ know who I was!"

"Wait…" said Perry, who was now on his feet, and stretching to try and get some circulation back, "You say you can run on water?"

"Yeah."

"Then I know who you are."

"You do?"

"Sure," Perry gave the boy a fatherly smile, "You're Green Arrow's sidekick – Speedy."

"_What?"_

"That's right," said Green Arrow.

"No!" the kid spluttered, "No! No, that's not right! I'm not his sidekick!"

"But your name _is _Speedy?" said Lois.

"No!"

"It's Impulse," Green Arrow offered.

"No, it isn't! Damn all of you! It's Kid Flash!"

"Kid Flash?" Lois cocked an eyebrow, "Really?"

"What's wrong with Kid Flash?"

"Nothing, nothing…" Lois backtracked, "It's… it's perfectly fine…"

"Are we done with this week's episode of Masterpiece Theatre?" asked Green Arrow, "Maybe we should get out of here."

"The lady and I will go first," said – um – Kid Flash, "You can climb on my back. But if you're gonna hurl, please aim thataway."

"I'm not going anywhere without Clark," said Lois.

"Who's Clark?"

"He's a sheriff from Smallville," said Perry, "He and Lois were trying to rescue me and he got taken. Luthor has him."

"Well, we can come back for him later."

"No!" Lois refused, "I told you, I'm not leaving without him."

"Miss Lane…"

"Don't _Miss Lane_ me, I–"

The argument was cut by the distinct sound of a key turning in a lock. Everyone swung to the door. Green Arrow reacted first – with unbelievably fast reflexes. His arm came up, suddenly holding another crossbow. He fired a bolt an instant before the door opened. It slammed into the jam, just under the hinge, wedging the door closed. For now.

"Impulse!" he barked, "Grab her and go!"

"I… _what?_" screeched Lois.

She never got a chance to say anything else. There was a red – Flash – and suddenly her whole world blurred. The sensation was eerie. Like being on an out-of-control rollercoaster. She was lurched sideways and then, in less than a second, she was out the window and falling.

No, not quite falling. Kid Flash had grabbed her. But not from behind. From the front, so his face was in her boobs. He had his arms wrapped around her, clutching at the bow connected to the wire. It was reeling itself back out.

"How are they gonna get out?" Lois shouted above the whipping wind.

He didn't answer. She twisted to look back over her shoulder, and saw an amazing sight. Perry, like her, had his arms wrapped around Green Arrow's neck as the archer launched himself backward out the open window.

He had _yet another_ bow in his hand. On the end was a small round clamp, which he aimed at the roof of the building. He pulled the trigger, and the clamp shot out, dragging another high-tensile wire behind it. The clamp, obviously magnetic, slammed into the face of the building, locking there.

Green Arrow allowed the wire a little more slack, before hitting the brake. The wire pulled taut. All his own weight, and Perry's, came down on his one hand and he screamed as his shoulder ripped out of it's socket. He screamed again when their momentum took them into the side of the building, cracking a window.

Somehow, he still had enough feeling in his hand to hit another button, and the wire started spooling out, now keeping pace with Lois and Kid Flash.

Above them, heads were peeking out the open window of the office, and Lois saw Lex Luthor himself in the gloam of the city lights. Even at this distance – getting longer by the second – she could feel the contempt radiating off him.

"I'll be back for you, Luthor!" she screamed.

She heard Kid Flash chuckle. "I like you, Lois," he said, "You can stay."

.

.

.


	18. Twisted

**Twisted**

.

.

.

The conditions had improved.

Clark was still in the lab, but he'd been moved to a sectioned off corner. He was now on a bed, with an actual mattress. He was still hooked up to an IV, but the tubes had been removed from his neck, replaced by the more regulation insert to the vein in the back of his hand.

None of it meant anything to Clark though.

He was fully conscious, but he had no feeling. Anywhere. He might as well have been paralysed. Even blinking was a slow, languid process. It was like his mind had been downloaded into an empty shell, and he was forced to stare at the stark whitewashed tiles of the ceiling, unable to look away.

He heard her approach.

He knew it was her, because of the way her shoes – those ugly, flat-heeled shoes that the old Lana wouldn't have been caught dead in – sounded on the floor. Soon, she was standing over him. Watching him.

He couldn't get used to the change in her.

Anyone meeting her for the first time wouldn't have picked it up, but Clark could. Her face had taken on a flat, lifeless aspect. Her mouth, once pretty, was now severe. And her eyes…

Dead eyes.

"You're probably wondering why you can't move," she said.

Even her voice had changed, albeit subtly. There was a heavy quality to it. A harshness. Lack of practice, he supposed. Any lightness and modulation that used to be there probably wasn't used anymore, and so it faded.

"It's simple," she went on, "There's a safety concern, for one. We know what you can do. I saw you fly into a tornado. We're not going to take a chance on letting you get loose. Who knows what damage might cause."

Clark tried to speak – to tell her she really didn't have any idea the chaos he would wreak – but he failed. He tried to bend all his will to forming words, but his lips wouldn't even move.

"But there's another reason, and this is far more fascinating."

She turned to a monitor, plugged into the various machines that surrounded his bed. Clark could only catch the display in the periphery of his vision, and what he saw looked like scrolling lines of text. Like something out of the Matrix.

"Do you remember a conversation we had, after your first game as a starter for the Crows?" asked Lana, "We were on the bleachers. It was getting dark. I wanted to go to Dawn Stiles's party, but you were in one of your moods. My God, Clark, you really had brooding down to an art form. Anyway, I digress… I was proud of you that day. I told you so. But you wouldn't hear it. You got it into your head that being the star of the high school football team was somehow beneath you. You kept going on about how you wanted to do more. How you wanted to help people. Help the world. Do you remember?"

She paused, as though waiting for him to answer. But, of course, he couldn't. Suddenly, she laughed. The sound was so off, so spiked with insanity, that Clark actually felt his heart rate jump.

"I'm sorry, you can't even answer me. Hold on."

She disappeared from his line of sight for a couple of seconds. When she reappeared, she was smiling. Like her laugh, it was just wrong. It looked like it had been painted on.

"I adjusted the dose," she told him, "In a minute, you'll be able to talk. Maybe, just maybe, move your head. But I doubt it."

Clark wasn't even fighting it anymore. Not that he had given up, but rather the fact that, since she'd revealed herself to him, he was taken over by a new obsession. Trying to find anything – anything – in the woman standing over him, that he recognised. Some reflection of the girl he once thought he would love forever.

There was nothing.

"The funny thing is, Clark, now you _will_ be helping the world," said Lana, "Can you move your head at all?"

It took a supreme effort, but Clark managed to incline his head a fraction. Enough so he could now see her and the monitor.

Lana seemed pleased. "Good. Look at this," she pointed to the screen, "That IV's filled with more than just meteor rock. I've added a little cocktail of my own design. See, your body chemistry's fascinating. Your platelet count is off the charts. There isn't even a chart for it. So I decided to see what would happen if your white blood cells – basically, your immune system – came under attack from earth-bound viruses. Just the greatest hits; Ebola, SARS, HIV, a few others… we're learning a remarkable deal by studying the little battles going on in your organs as they shut down one by one. If we can get serums out of this, you'll have achieved your dream, Clark. You'll save the world. Isn't that fantastic?"

For the first time in what seemed like days, Clark managed to part his lips. His tongue seemed welded to the roof of his mouth, but he pried it loose. Enough to talk.

"You're… insane…" he said.

"I suppose," Lana replied, quite agreeably, "But if I am, then you made me that way."

"All… All I… ever… did… was… love you…"

"Love me? _Love me?"_

Her rage came so fast it was like a lightning strike. Her eyes blazed, and she bared her teeth in a hideous snarl.

"Lying to me, making me fall in love with… an _alien!_ Is that what they call love on the rock where you're from?"

Clark didn't know how – didn't know where he found the strength, because he honestly believed he had none left, but somehow… somehow, he started to laugh. At first, it was the softest chuckle. Mere tufts of breath escaping through his teeth. But it built. He felt his lungs go to work, and a curious tingling sensation spread across his skin as mirth swirled in his belly and came out… as pure – broken, but pure - laughter.

"Shut up!" Lana was almost screeching, "Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP!"

He couldn't. He didn't even know how to try.

The laughter was all that was left for him. The very sight of her – this ghost, this shard of the girl he once adored – was so twisted, so mangled beyond redemption that if he didn't laugh… he would surely die.

.

.

.


	19. Watchtower

**Watchtower**

.

.

.

Lois and Perry discovered that their rescuers had a base in the city; the old clock tower, rising like a weathered hand above the east bank of the river. They got there in a van that was waiting for them in the alley behind LexCorp. The van was being driven by a striking young woman, with short, spiky hair who introduced herself simply as Canary.

On the drive over – while Perry strapped up a makeshift sling for Green Arrow, to take the weight off his injured shoulder – Kid Flash took great delight in informing Lois that the van was an exact replica of the one driven by the A-Team in the 80's TV show. With some modern adjustments, like alloyed armour plating and retractable rockets. Lois, however, was more interested in the heroes themselves.

"So, you guys formed, like… a team?"

"Sure," said Kid Flash, "A Squad. A League, if you will. There's me, Shaft over here, The Bird, Cyborg…"

"Impulse," Canary's voice wasn't loud, but it was piercing, "Civilians."

"Come on, C-Bird," said Kid Flash, "They're cool."

"They're reporters."

"You have something against reporters?" asked Lois. The question was barbed. And laced with poison. And packed with landmines.

Canary ignored that fact. "As a group, you lack discretion," she said.

She's got us there, Lois," said Perry.

Lois didn't press the issue. It would be impolite to start an argument with the people who came to your rescue a mere ten minutes after the rescue itself. She'd give it an hour.

Instead, she did as a reporter does, and asked another question. "How'd you even know we'd been taken?"

For once, Kid Flash didn't jump in with an answer. Instead, he turned to Green Arrow, letting him take the lead. Green Arrow looked supremely uncomfortable. He looked to Canary for help, but she kept her eyes on the road.

"How?" Lois asked again. "We got a tip," said Green Arrow.

"A tip? From who?"

"_Whom?" _ Kid Flash chimed in.

Lois shut him up again with a look.

"I can't say…"

"Why not?"

"They're gonna find out when we get to Watchtower," said Kid Flash.

"Yeah, well, let _her_ handle that."

"Coward."

"Fine, you tell them."

Lois was losing patience with the back and forth between the costumed crusaders.

"Can one of you give me a straight answer?"

"Your questions will be answered at the base," said Green Arrow.

"Speaking of," said Canary, applying the brakes and swinging into a short drive that led straight to a brick wall.

Lois glanced out the window. "The clock tower?"

"It's central," Kid Flash explained.

"Yeah, and kinda cliché'."

The speedster just shrugged. Perry had spotted another problem.

"Uh… I think you need to stop," he said.

Canary was heading straight for the wall. She wasn't slowing down.

"Hey!" Lois yelled, "What the hell are you–?"

Then they passed straight through the wall. Like it wasn't even there. Which, technically…

"Hologram," said Green Arrow.

They'd emerged into what amounted to an underground hangar. There were a number of – mostly modified - vehicles scattered all over the large space; a plane shaped like a bullet, several motorcycles, ATV's, cars that looked like they could break the sound barrier standing still.

"Whoah…" Lois breathed, "It's like the Bat Cave."

"The Bat Cave?" Kid Flash laughed, "Come on, Lois! Batman's fictional!"

Canary parked the van opposite a standalone elevator. It was one of those old-time jobs where you had to pull up the gate before you got on. Once out of the van, Perry hoisted the gate and everybody filed into the cramped space. Green Arrow hit a button, and suddenly an array of lasers shot out of the walls, tracking up and down and left to right. Perry and Lois flinched.

"Identify!" came a distinctly computerised voice.

"Green Arrow," said Green Arrow.

"Black Canary," said Canary.

"Kid Flash," said Kid Flash.

"Warning!" the computer voice took on a menacing tone, "Identity not verified. Repeat."

"Dammit," the young man hissed, "Fine… Impulse!"

"Confirmed. Identify unclassified personnel."

"Lois Lane and Perry White," said Green Arrow, "Protocol 8702."

Lois frowned, and the archer just gave her a reassuring nod.

"Confirmed," said the voice. There was a long beep, and the elevator started to move. Shortly, it came to a stop. There was another beep, another laser scan, and Kid Flash stepped forward and opened the door.

When they stepped out of the elevator, Lois and Perry gasped with wonder. The inside of the clock tower was simply massive. A huge, domed room, filled to bursting with terminals and computer screens. There were several comfortable couches, and what looked like more rooms up a winding black metal staircase. All of it bathed in the city lights filtered through the stained glass window that took up the entirety of the east facing wall.

"This place is amazing," said Perry, walking slowly between the terminals, casting his eyes over the never-ending stream of information flowing across the screens.

"Welcome to Watchtower," said a voice.

Lois turned toward it. A figure stood at the top of the staircase. Lois had recognised the voice instantly, but she still couldn't bring herself to believe it when she saw the spunky little blonde coming down towards her.

"Chloe?" she gaped.

Normally, it would be an ideal time for Chloe to respond with a witty quip. Instead, she barrelled down the remaining stairs and threw her arms around her cousin. Chloe hugged her so tight that Lois couldn't breathe for a second.

"Thank God you're alright," Chloe whimpered into Lois shoulder – which was as high as came.

"You two know each other?" said Perry.

"She's my cousin," said Lois, disengaging from the hug, "Chloe, you're… a hero too?"

"Hardly," said Chloe, "I handle the tech, co-ordinate the missions…"

"Run our lives like an interfering mother hen," said Kid Flash.

Chloe ignored him. She had eyes only for Lois.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, "What did Lex do to you?"

"Nothing," said Lois, "Just locked me up. They beat Perry."

She gestured to the older man, who was pressing random buttons on every console he could reach.

"Please don't do that," said Chloe, "Do you need medical attention?"

"I'll be fine, honey," said Perry, "I've had worse. Believe me."

"I do," said Chloe, "It's great to see you again, Mr White."

"Again?"

"We met my sophomore year of high school," said Chloe, "At the Daily Planet. I was an intern."

Oh, yes!" Perry grinned, "Sullivan, isn't it?"

"You remember me?"

"I remember all promising young reporters."

Chloe flushed beet red with pride. Lois almost laughed. Almost.

"Okay, Chlo, now that the formalities are out of the way…"

"We can save the explanations for later, Lo," said Chloe, "Right now, we should talk about Clark."

"Do you know where he's being held?" asked Canary.

"33.1 is my guess," said Lois.

At this, the whole team went quiet. They looked at each other, and even their disguises couldn't mask the apprehension on their faces.

"I take it that name means something to you," Lois observed.

"We've seen Luthor's freak zoos before," said Kid Flash.

"Freak zoos?" Lois didn't like the sound of that, "What does that mean?"

"Impulse," Canary was in chiding mode again, "No need to worry the civi-"

"Sweetheart, call me a civilian one more time, and I will go all Marine Brat on your ass!" Lois warned, "Now be honest with me. What goes on in 33.1?"

"It's what Lex calls the facilities he uses to experiment on meta-humans," Chloe provided, "The meteor-infected, anyone with abilities…"

"Is Clark… special?" asked Canary. Lois just pursed her lips. "Right, not your place to say."

"Whether he is or not doesn't matter," said Lois, "We have to get him out."

"Hold on," said Green Arrow, "Any 33.1 facility is going to have the latest high-tech security. You found that out yourself. We can't just go charging in there."

"Watch me!" said Lois, turning on her heel and heading for the elevator.

Kid Flash zoomed in front of her, blocking her path.

"Not so fast, senorita," he said.

"Get out of my way."

"What are you going to do, Lois?" asked Green Arrow, a trace of annoyance creeping into his voice.

"I'm going to march into Lex's office, hang him out the window by his ankles, and tell him he'll have a reunion with daddy dearest if he doesn't let Clark go!"

"I'll go with you," said Perry, leaving the temptation of the computer terminals and coming to stand by Lois's side, "Clark got captured trying to rescue me. It's the least I can do."

"Would you listen to yourselves?" Green Arrow was _definitely _ annoyed now, "You wouldn't make it past the front door!"

"We won't use the front door."

"You aren't heroes!"

"Then help us!"

The rest of the group was slowly drawing away, leaving Lois and the archer in the centre of a makeshift ring. It was clear that he wasn't used to his authority being questioned. What she could see of his face was flushed. Even the voice modifier had trouble disguising his anger. Lois didn't care. She squared up to him.

"You said yourself that Lex experiments on people in there," she said, "He could be experimenting on Clark right now, and you expect me to just stand here and twiddle my thumbs?'

"All I'm asking for is some time."

"How much time?"

"A day. Maybe two. We need to get the full team here if we're going to have any hope of infiltrating 33.1!"

"Not a chance!" Lois stormed, "Clark could be dead by then!"

"We don't have a choice," said Green Arrow, "LexCorp Tower is one thing, but no one in the world is capable of penetrating 33.1 without advance preparation."

"Yes, there is," said a voice, "There's me."

Everybody swung toward the elevator, which hadn't moved. And yet… there was a man standing there. He was wearing a smart suit, with suspenders and a rather stylish baby-blue silk tie. He wore thick, bottle-bottom glasses, and everything about him _should_ have screamed accountant.

But he carried himself with such authority, such command, such raw power, that everyone in the room was immediately relegated to a supporting role in his presence.

All of that wasn't the reason Lois almost fainted though.

"Clark…" she whispered.

He turned to her, and she was almost bowled over by the pure, undiluted adoration in his eyes.

"Hey, Lois," said this Clark who wasn't Clark, "I'm glad we finally get the chance to meet."

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	20. Stories

**Stories**

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Lex Luthor.

The man was a living legend by the age of 21, and it was always hard to tell fact from fiction.

There was the story that he was expelled from the Dalton academy for stealing the Dean's car and 'parking' it in the school swimming pool. That the models on his arm at glitzy premieres were just window dressing, and he was the one behind the Jack the Ripperesque slew of prostitute murders that swept through Suicide Slum ten years ago. And, of course, the stories about his father…

Lex himself did everything he could to paint a public picture of a well-meaning businessman who had the best interests of the city at heart.

Or, at least, he appeared to. Privately, he was quite pleased that the stories that sprung up about him always tended toward the grotesque. Tales that inspired fear.

If only they knew the truth…

Lex smiled to himself. The subject was sleeping. Passed out, actually. Lex studied the man.

He knew him, of course. His suspicions confirmed by Miss Lang's positive ID. It irked Lex somewhat. He knew Clark Kent as a teenager. The supposed small town farm boy had even worked for him at one point.

To think, he had the greatest discovery in the history of mankind under his nose for so long, and he didn't even know it.

Clark stirred. Lex waited patiently. Out the corner of his eye, he could see Lana through the glass in the viewing room. She was tense. Something Clark said to her had caused her to go a little postal.

Lex didn't care what it was. The woman was unhinged, but she was brilliant, and that's all that mattered to him.

A low, pained moan escaped Clark's throat and Lex stepped forward. He leaned over him, watched as Clark opened his eyes, struggling to even blink.

"Did you lower the dose?" he asked, without turning around.

He heard a beep, then Lana's voice came over the speakers. "Yes. He'll be conscious for a few minutes."

Lex nodded. "Clark," he said, "Can you hear me?"

Clark's pupils expanded and contracted as he struggled to focus. Eventually, he fixed on Lex, and Lex knew he was listening.

"I thought we should talk," said Lex, "At least once. I've been looking for you for a long time."

Clark said nothing. Lex didn't expect him to. He was grateful. He hated it when people interrupted his speeches.

"Do you know what the most common story is about me, Clark?" he asked, "That I've got daddy issues. That I am who I am because of my father. His company, his contacts, his ambitions. For the most part, nothing could be further from the truth…"

Clark's mouth started flapping. Obviously the meteor rock was still working it's way through his system and he was finding it hard to speak. Lex bent over again, putting his ear close to Clark's mouth.

"Is this…? Is this…?"

"Is this what?" Lex prompted, "Come on, try to speak up."

"Is this how… you're planning to kill me? Bore me… to death?"

Lex's jaw clenched, and a vein started throbbing in his temple. The man was clinging to life by his fingernails and he was making jokes.

"In this one case, the stories are true," said Lex, choosing to blow past it, "His fascination with your home town began decades ago. He was closing a deal there in 1989. The day of the meteor shower. The day we now know… you came to this planet."

Clark swallowed. Like before, with Lana, he could feel the effects of the meteor rock fading as the dosage drained out, and he grew steadily stronger.

"You found my ship," he said.

"That I did. It's been a fascinating source of information. It's almost… alive. I knew that the ship was just the surface, though. That there was more to find in Smallville. Your friend Perry White thought so too. It's why I had him followed. Why I ordered my men to take him when they reported he was entering the Kawachi caves. I couldn't risk the Daily Planet splashing my discoveries across the front page."

"Perry… Lois… what have you done with them."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Lex grinned, "Didn't I tell you? They're dead."

The bottom fell out of Clark's world. A minute ago, if anyone had told him it was possible to feel worse, he wouldn't have believed it. The meteor rock had turned his blood to molten lava. His skeleton felt like poured concrete.

And yet… the thought of Lois… dead…

Clark's mind railed against it. Just shut down. Refused to conjure the picture. He concentrated on trying to move his hands, a finger, anything. Trying to push the effects of the poison out and find his strength.

Lex must have noticed his struggles because he laughed. He found the pitiful attempt delightful. He grabbed a nearby stool and pulled it up to the side of Clark's bed. He sat down, crossing one leg over the other. Quite comfortable.

"They weren't valuable, Clark. You are." he said, "Or, at least, you were."

"You… sonofabitch."

"Professor Lang got what she needed," Lex explained, "Have you ever heard the myth of Borkast, the Norse Tree of Life?"

"God…" Clark croaked, "You talk too much…"

"The story goes that there was one god, Gaya, the mother of the earth. And she was lonely. In her loneliness, she wept. One of her tears struck fertile ground, and in an instant, Borkast sprung from the earth. A tree a mile high, and as sturdy as the strongest tower. The fruit of Borkast grew plentiful, falling from the boughs fully-formed, and these were the gods," Lex paused, studying the sweating man before him, "That's what you gave us, Clark. Gaya's tears. Life-giving fluid, and from a single drop… we will spawn miracles."

"You're crazy," said Clark, "What are you going to do?"

"Don't worry about that," said Lex, "You can go to your grave knowing that your… special gifts… will live on. Helping to save the world."

"My grave?"

"Well, I don't really need you anymore."

Lex rose from the stool, brushing out the slight creases in his pants as he did so. He was still very casual. His face almost serene.

"One of those stories about me is true," said Lex, "I did throw my father out a window. He was a danger to me. Just like you. And if I could do that to him, why would I keep you around?" Lex turned, and headed for the door. As he did, he called back over his shoulder, "Professor Lang wants to say goodbye. If I were you, I'd savour it. It will be the last thing you hear."

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	21. Doppelganger

**Doppelganger**

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Lois thought it would take a miracle to even find her voice, but somehow she managed: "Clark?"

The man just stood there. His eyes riveted to Lois like she was the only person in the room. He didn't even look away when Green Arrow stepped forward.

"Wait. Clark? This is Clark?"

"No," said Lois.

"But you just said–"

"He's not my Clark."

"_Your_ Clark?"

Lois didn't know how she knew, but she was certain. This wasn't Clark. The differences went beyond the clothes, the glasses and the slicked hair. In an instant, Lois understood what Clark had been talking about in the garden on her roof.

When he told her the story about that other Lois, and the way she, in turn, told the story of her Clark – her Superman – his voice had been so heavy with regret. Like he felt diminished even talking about the man who had taken to the skies as a hero for all the world.

Now Lois could see why. This man standing in front of her was Clark, but he was also… more. He was everything Clark could be.

"We don't have much time," said Clark.

"Yeah, well, we're going to make time," said Green Arrow, "I'm still trying to process the 'this isn't Clark' part."

"Want the cliff-notes version?" said Clark, "Fine. I am Clark Kent. But I'm from an alternate reality – or universe – or whatever. My… fiancée… was trapped here a while ago, and the Clark from this world helped her get home. I came back through the star-tunnel to thank him. He wasn't home, and word at the Daily Planet is that Perry White went AWOL. Hello, Mr White."

"Hello, son," said Perry, looking like a cat that took a swim in the cream with all this talk of alternate worlds and star-tunnels.

"I knew Clark would have gone looking for him. It's what I would have done. When I got here, I heard you talking about rescuing him. There, we done now?"

"Not quite," said Chloe, "How'd you even know about this place?"

"It exists on my world too," said Clark, "Just like all of you. I'm a member of the Justice League."

"The Justice League!" Kid Flash suddenly yelled out, "That's it! That's gold!"

"If Lex has… me… Clark… we have to move. He's the most dangerous man I've ever known. No telling what he's going to do with him. Me. This is all a bit confusing."

"And we're supposed to just take your word for all this?" asked Green Arrow, "We don't know you. How do we know any of this is true?"

"Lois knows," said Clark.

He turned to her. She still hadn't moved. She didn't think she could.

"Lois…" he said, "You believe me, don't you?"

"Yes," she said, instantly.

He smiled, and suddenly the differences to her Clark vanished. They were one and the same in that smile. A smile born of a pure heart.

"Okay, fine," said Green Arrow, launching into leader-mode to try and get some control back, "Watchtower, plug us in. Team, let's move."

Green Arrow strode forward, heading for the elevator. Clark put out a hand, stopping him.

"When we get to LexCorp, you follow my lead," he said.

"Excuse me?" Green Arrow sounded offended, "Look, I don't know who the hell you think you are, but in this world, we–"

"Dammit, Ollie, we don't have time for this!" said Clark, "I'm our best chance of getting in there, so either follow me, or stay out of my way."

They heard Kid Flash chuckling. He wasn't even trying to hide it. Canary smacked him on the back of the head on her way to the elevator. Perry followed, and together they dragged Kid Flash into the cabin. Chloe was already tapping at a nearby keyboard. Holding back a torrent of expletive-laced retorts, Green Arrow joined his friends. Clark was about to follow, when he noticed Lois still wasn't moving.

"You coming?" he asked.

"In… in a minute," she said, "Just one question first."

"What?"

"Why did you call him Ollie?"

Clark blanched. He swung toward the elevator. Green Arrow hung his head.

"Oh, fu–"

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	22. Requiem

**Requiem**

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"I didn't sleep last night," said Lana, "I couldn't stop thinking about this moment. I wanted it to be special. I wanted it to be perfect. You always had that effect on me, Clark."

She smiled. It was girlish, and more than a little shy. Her lips, full and sensual, twitched back ever so slightly at the corners, offering a mere glimpse of perfect white teeth. Anyone who saw just the smile would describe it as cute. Affectionate.

But that's not how smiles work. They begin and end in the eyes, and Lana's eyes…

They were dead.

Clark was fully conscious, but really wished he wasn't. Lana had ordered a team of Lex's goons – that was the only word for them, goons – to physically remove him from the bed and move him here.

Clark was starting to think of it as the room of burnt steel.

It was completely empty. The walls were made of riveted sheets of blackened metal, as were the floor and ceiling. Clark noticed there was a slight slope to the floor, angling toward a drain in the corner. He'd seen a set-up like it before, in the coroner's office. It was a room designed to drain away bodily fluids.

_His_ fluids, he was guessing.

Clark was suspended from the ceiling again, by a pair of manacles lifted straight from bad movie about the Spanish Inquisition. But that wasn't the worst part.

The worst was Lana.

She'd ditched the lab coat in favour of a dress. He knew that dress. Salmon coloured, the bodice was moulded to her slender frame, with an A-line skirt that offered the merest glimpse of her legs. He knew that dress, alright.

He still had a picture of it in a frame in his living room. His prom photo.

Weird.

"Lana, you don't have to do this…"

Lana didn't appear to hear him. She was puttering around on a keypad inserted into the wall. The room took on a green sheen. Just like the walls in the tunnel when he and Lois were first captured, they were somehow treated with meteor rock. Clark's muscles bunched all at once and he screamed.

Lana turned away from the wall. She was even walking differently. That curious cheerleader skip she had back in high school. She turned the stylish heels she was wearing into ballet slippers as all the remembered grace came back into her form.

"I'm sorry I played hard to get for so long," she said. Her eyes were glazed over, almost like she was drugged, and Clark was certain she was in a completely different place in her mind. "The truth is, I knew you were the one. From the beginning. That moment in the graveyard, remember? I was out riding and I found you there. I introduced you to my parents."

"Lana… Lana, listen to me," Clark begged, "There's something wrong with you. Just… just let me go, and I can help you. I swear."

"Wrong?" Lana laughed. It sounded unhinged, "There's nothing wrong. Absolutely nothing. Tonight's going to be perfect."

"What are you–?"

"Our prom night night was supposed to be perfect. But you ruined it. Now we have another chance."

"Lana, please…"

She went back to the control pad and hit another button. A small section, about the size of a book, slid back, revealing a tiny aperture. To Clark, the heat in the room suddenly ramped up to unbearable. He screamed again.

"Lead," said Lana, twirling her finger, indicating the walls, "To contain the effects. I'm surprised it works, considering how powerful it is. I treated it with synthetic meteor rock, magnifying the radiation a thousandfold."

She reached a hand into the gap, and pulled out a slender chain. Through the pain, Clark blinked back the salty mix of sweat and tears, squinting to see what it was. It was glowing – so bright it hurt.

"I want to give you something," said Lana, her voice taking on a hopeless, eerily dreamy quality, "I was devastated when Whitney first lost it. But you got it back for me. Yes, I know it was you. Slipping it onto my door. I was doing homework, that night. I had the radio on. I still remember the song that was playing."

Suddenly, she was singing. It was beyond creepy. Her voice was high, and squeaky, and rolling with madness. Clark shivered.

"_So lately, been wondering, who will be there to take my place…"_ she twirled. Actually twirled. _"When I'm gone, you'll need love, to wipe the shadows on your face…_ Come on, Clark. You know the words. Sing along."

"Lana, you're not well," he said, "You need help."

"Sing along!"

She lashed out, and whatever was in her hand, caught him on the cheek. It was like being cut with a knife that had been left in a fire. It shredded the skin of his cheek and a spurt of blood hit the stained walls.

"_If a great wave shall fall, it'll fall upon us all…" _Lana kept singing, _"Well I hope there's someone out there, who can bring me back to you…"_

She choked up. Suddenly, she was standing very still in front of him, her head down, so her – now glistening – black hair hung down over her face like a curtain. Her shoulders trembled and Clark realised she was crying.

Strange as it was, this gave him hope. If she was crying, that meant she'd passed through the wasteland of her own mind and was actually feeling something.

"Lana…" he urged, "Lana, listen to me. Whatever–"

"It wasn't a wave that fell on us," said Lana, from somewhere behind the strings of her hair, "It was you. A rain of fire from the sky. You destroyed… everything."

She looked up. Her eyes glittered with insanity, and Clark's heart almost stopped cold.

"I want you to do me a favour," she said, "Just one favour. You owe me that."

Clark couldn't help himself. Such was the force of her delusion, he found himself getting swept up in it.

"What?" he said.

"When you see my parents, tell them what you did. Own up to it. Tell them that you were the one who took them from me. The one who ended their lives in blood and fire."

"Lana…"

"Tell them! Let them rest!"

Clark gaped at her. In that moment, he almost didn't feel the meteor rock shredding him. All he felt was hopelessness. She was truly lost.

"I don't know how long this is going to take, but I want you to know I'm not going anywhere," said Lana, "I'll be right here. I know how much you loved me, Clark. I knew this was the best gift I could give you. The last face you see will be the woman you love."

That smile was back. The dead smile.

Clark summoned every ounce of his considerable will and locked the pain away in a forgotten chamber of his mind. He made himself ignore the death coursing through him. His jaw clenched, and he almost snarled.

"I don't love you," he told her.

"Clark, Clark, Clark…" she tutted, "You don't have to put on a brave face. It's okay. It's me."

"It's true," said Clark, "I'm in love with someone else."

"That's a lie," she was _still_ smiling.

"I've known her for two days and already I feel more for her than I ever did for you."

"Why are you doing this, Clark? Why are you trying to hurt me?"

"I never wanted to hurt you, Lana," he said, "But that's exactly what I did. I see that now. And not because of your parents, or prom night, or all the times I lied to you. I hurt you because I let you believe that you were the one for me. When all it ever was… was a childish dream. I'm sorry, Lana."

"You're talking about that woman, aren't you," said Lana. Her serene mask was cracking, revealing the ugliness underneath, "The one they caught you with."

"Yes."

"Well, Lex took care of her," she said, "So, you'll see her very soon."

Clark pulled at the manacles holding his hands. It almost ripped the muscles of his back and shoulders to shreds, but he managed to pull himself upright. He towered over. He refused to let the unbelievable pain even register on his face. He looked her dead in the eyes.

"If she's waiting for me on the other side, I'll go with a smile…"

"You'll go screaming!"

She lunged forward. She unclipped the chain in her hand, and swiftly wrapped it around his neck. She fastened it at the back and stepped away.

The tiny rock dangling from the slender silver rope burned like nothing he had ever felt. The skin it touched sizzled like roasting pork, with little plumes of smoke pouring from it, accompanied by the crackling of his skin. It burned straight through his flesh, and touched his breastbone, which started melting.

If the rock weren't turning his chest to liquid, Clark might have laughed. The irony of it was sweetly absurd. The necklace that had kept him from her for so many years would now be the thing that killed him. Shadenfreude at it's finest. Shakespeare eat your heart out.

"Tell my parents I love them," said Lana, stepping back as the smell of frying flesh hit her nostrils, "Tell them I'm okay. I got what I wanted. I got to watch you die."

She was crazy, but in one respect, she was absolutely right.

Clark screamed.

And screamed, and screamed…

…and screamed.

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	23. Infiltrate

**Infiltrate**

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**Comm Link – 99/526/55/4709 - Open**

WTWR – Open Combt Log 2012/02/07

Active Operatives: Green Arrow (GA), Black Canary (BC), Impulse (IM)

Non-Combat Personnel desg: Civ. Lois Lane, Call sign: Cherry (CH). Civ. Percival White, Call sign: Hack (HK).

Other: Combat-Ready, non-desg class: Clark Kent, Call sign: Blue (BL)

Channel Link – 99/526/55/4710 (Full Transciption)

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**WTWR**: Channel Test, comm. 1. Arrow, come in.

**GA**: Roger.

**WTWR**: Canary, come in.

**BC**: Roger.

**WTWR**: Impulse, come in.

**IM**: Yeah.

**WTWR**: Impulse, that was a non-designated response.

**IM**: I know.

**WTWR**: You're doing this to piss me off, aren't you?

**IM**: Little bit.

**WTWR**: Fine. Cherry, Hack, can you hear me?

**HK**: Roger.

**CH**: Loud and clear, Chl- uh… Watchtower.

**WTWR**: Great. Blue?

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**WTWR**: Blue?

**GA**: That's you.

**BL**: Me?

**WTWR**: I assigned you a call sign.

**BL**: Fine.

**WTWR**: Do you want to change it?

**BL**: I have another name where I come from.

**WTWR**: Oh?

**BL**: Superman.

**BC**: Superman?

**GA**: Bit… over-the-top, don't you think?

**BL**: Excuse me?

**GA**: No, I'm just saying… Superman… kinda arrogant.

**BL**: I didn't choose it.

**GA**: Who did?

**IM**: Y'know, speakin' of names…

**BL**: My wife.

**IM**: I really like that Justice League suggestion.

**GA**: You're married?

**CH**: Don't.

**IM**: I think it's cool.

**BL**: Yes, I am.

**GA**: Huh… So tell me…

**CH**: I'm warning you…

**GA**: Does your wife know about your… other job?

**CH**: Okay, that's it. You and me, outside, right now!

**GA**: We're driving.

**WTWR**: Guys?

**IM**: Just the right mix of tough and awesome! Justice League!

**BL**: Actually, she does.

**GA**: She does?

**BL**: She knows everything.

**GA**: Well, you're no help.

**IM**: Hello? Hello!

**WTWR**: Yes, Impulse?

**IM**: Oh, so you can hear me?

**WTWR**: We'll discuss the team name at the next meeting.

**IM**: What's to discuss? The Justice League is–

**WTWR**: At the next meeting!

**IM**: Fine.

**BC**: We're here.

**IM**: Excellente'! Let's rock 'n roll!

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Superman took point, just like he said. This didn't go down well with Green Arrow.

"I still don't see why you gotta strut around like the head honcho," he said, as the team filed out of the van, "And where the hell are we?"

Superman had directed them to an unobtrusive parking garage three blocks from LexCorp tower. He instructed Canary to follow the rolling spiral to the bottom level, where they pulled up in front of a set of industrial doors. It was the kind that blocked the entrances to the switching tracks for the old underground railroads – now the subway. This one looked disused, but it was still a huge door, made of reinforced steel and easily a few tons on the heavy side.

"33.1 isn't confined to LexCorp tower," said Superman, "Not on my world, and I'm betting not on this one either. It's hard to smuggle people in through the front door of a Fortune 500 company. So Lex hooked it up to the subways, which he owns."

"So he can control the flow," said Perry.

"Exactly. This will get us into the parts of the subway Lex shut down."

"Okay, that answers the second question," said Green Arrow, "What about the first? Why you?"

"Drop it, Oliver," said Lois, not in the mood for his posturing.

Green Arrow ignored her. Superman just smiled. He stepped up to the door.

"That answer's even simpler," he said.

He bent down, tucked one hand under the five inch thick bar that ran along the bottom edge of the door, and tugged. The whole door rumbled up so fast it sounded like a lightning storm inside the garage. Dirt and concrete flew from the mouldy rails along the sides, and it crashed home at the top with a bang that made the ground shake.

"Whoah…" Bart whistled.

Canary's eyes were as wide as dinner plates. Perry's jaw flapped uselessly, the intrepid reporter at a loss for words for probably the first time in his life. Even Green Arrow was stunned.

"That door must weigh as much as a train car," said Lois.

Superman shrugged. He'd ditched his shirt and jacket, and now wore a plain black t-shirt tucked into his pants. He looked very… regal.

"Any other questions?" he asked. They all shook their heads. "Good. Let's go."

They stepped into darkness. Complete darkness.

There was the impression of an endless tunnel, as high as a building, running off in either direction, but it was impossible to see.

"Canary, torch," said Green Arrow.

"Don't," said Superman, "I don't see any cameras, but there might be some further down. They'll be tuned to pick up light. Stay close to me, follow the sound of my footsteps."

"Wait," said Perry, as they set off down the tunnel, "You can see?"

"X-Ray vision," said Superman.

"Cool!" Kid Flash's grin was visible, even in the darkness. "What else can you do?"

"A few things."

"I can run on water. Can you run on water?"

"I'm fast, but not that fast."

"Oh."

"Not that I need to be."

"Why not?"

"I can fly."

"Dude! You're my hero!"

"Impulse!" Green Arrows voice echoed down through the depths, "Concentrate."

Kid Flash fell silent. Green Arrow marched along at a steady clip. He could just about make out the form of Superman ahead of him. Still, it was like walking blindfolded into enemy fire.

He didn't know what it was about the newcomer that bothered him. It wasn't just the fact that he was in such a hurry to take over. Green Arrow himself was a natural born leader, and he recognised that quality in Superman. So that wasn't it.

He sighed.

He was lying to himself. He knew perfectly well why he resented the man's presence.

It was the way Lois looked at him.

"I thought I could put this fight on hold, but I can't."

Green Arrow almost screamed. Almost. He was embarrassed by how close he came to yelling out. Damn darkness. Lois had snuck up next to him and he hadn't noticed her.

"Lo, please, listen to me…"

"Green Arrow started operating in Metropolis five years ago, Ollie," she said, keeping her voice low because of the way sound travelled in the tunnels. She didn't want the others to overhear, "Round about the same time I met you."

"Yes, but…"

"I get why you didn't just tell me," she said, "I understand keeping a secret identity. Even when we started dating. Maybe you wanted to protect me."

"That's exactly why I–"

"But we've been engaged for two weeks. We've been talking about marriage for almost a year."

"Lois, please, I–"

He cut off again, but not because she interrupted him. Because she just stopped walking. He sensed her presence drop away behind him and stopped himself. He could hear the others shuffling along up ahead. He approached until he made out Lois's outline in the lingering light from the door they'd used to get into the tunnel.

"I'm sorry," was all he said.

"You asked me to marry you," said Lois. There was so much hurt in her voice, he actually winced, "How could you do that? How could you ask me to spend my life with you, and then not even let me know who you are?"

"This is just a part of me, Lois."

"Well, I guess that's the difference between us, Ollie," she said "I never hid any part of me from you."

Before he could respond, he felt her brush past him. He decided it wasn't the time or place to argue the point any further.

Up ahead, the group had stopped again. When Green Arrow reached them, he caught a funny smell in the air. Over and above the dank tunnel smell, that is.

"What is that?" he asked.

"Melted plastic," said Superman.

"He burnt the cameras with fire from his eyes!" said Kid Flash.

"Dude," Green Arrow shook his head, "Are you for real?"

The cameras were mounted over another door. This one much smaller, but it looked as intimidating as the entrance to a vault. Superman just grabbed the handle and pulled it open.

Kid Flash made to step past, into the anteroom beyond, but Superman put a hand on his chest, stopping him.

"Lois… You said the walls were treated with meteor rock?"

"Yes," Lois confirmed, "And Lex activates it somehow. Clark was fine until we came to that last door."

"Okay," he nodded, "So there's every chance he'll do it again once he knows I'm inside. I'll try to get you as far into the complex as I can, but once that happens, I'll be incapacitated. You'll be on your own. Your main priority is to find Clark."

"What about you?" asked Canary.

"You leave me wherever I drop."

"Absolutely not!" said Lois, "We're not leaving you behind."

"I have a plan," he assured them, "But Perry, I'll need you to stay with me."

"You can count on me," said Perry.

"Thank you," said Superman, "The rest of you, split up. Find Clark. Get him out."

Lois cut in, "And if anyone finds Lex, he's mine," she said, "I made him a promise I intend to keep.".

.

.

.

The anteroom led to a service tunnel, lit with fluorescent track lighting. It ran about a hundred yards before it came to an intersection – a 4-way crossing, with the tunnel extending further, and also branching off to either side.

"Where to?" asked Kid Flash.

Superman engaged his X-ray vision, scanning all three branches of the tunnel. He grunted.

"What's the matter?"

"The walls are lined with lead," he explained, "I can't see through them."

"You can see _through_ walls? Not just in the dark?"

"Not these. They contain the effects of the meteor rocks. Lex doesn't mind irradiating people, just not by accident."

"So, we split up," said Green Arrow.

"Right," Superman nodded, "Canary, you and Impulse head right. Perry and I will take the tunnel ahead. Lois and Green Arrow, you got the path on the left."

"Oh no," said Lois, "I'm not going with him."

Green Arrow pursed his lips, trying not to cry out in frustration. Superman stepped in.

"Lois, we don't have time for debate. Just do this. Please. Clark's in trouble."

It's like he said the magic words. Lois merely nodded, and headed off down the left-hand tunnel. After a second, Green Arrow followed.

Kid Flash poked Canary in the ribs with his elbow. "Keep up, Toots," he grinned, then vanished.

"I hate it when he does that," she said, before following at a much more sedate pace.

"Come on," Superman tugged on Perry's sleeve, and the newspaper man followed the hero dead ahead.

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.

.

One floor up, and three hundred yards east, Lex Luthor was staring at a bank of screens, all of them blank.

"Are you sure it's not just a glitch?" he asked.

Cassidy was in a chair in front of the controls. Her fingers raced across the various keyboards.

"They're out," she said, "Fried somehow. All of them. And more going down all the time."

"They're here," said Lex.

"Who?"

Lex ignored her. He went to a panel in the wall, and pressed a button.

"Professor Lang," he said.

There was a squawk, followed by screaming. It went on and on, the most agonised screams even Lex had ever heard. They more than filled the room, they seeped into the skin. Cassidy swivelled around on her chair, her face drained of all colour.

"What is that?"

"Professor Lang!" Lex shouted this time.

The screams continued, seeming without pause, even for breath.

"Make it stop," Cassidy begged, "Please, God, make it stop."

But Lex didn't cut the feed. Instead, he leaned closer to the speaker. Cassidy couldn't believe it.

"Don't tell me you're enjoying this!"

"Quiet!" he barked, "Listen…"

Cassidy did as she was told. After a few seconds, once she got as used to the howls of agony as she could, she heard something else. While the prisoner was screaming, someone else in the room was… singing.

"_How can I stand here with you, and not be moved by you…? Would you tell me, how could it be any better than this…?"_

If anything, the singing was worse than the screams. Cassidy swallowed hard, feeling her heart rate spike. Eventually, mercifully, Lex pressed the button and the sound stopped.

"Sounds like she's busy," he said, at no time losing the casual arrogance in his tone, "Looks like we'll have to do it ourselves."

"Do what?"

"These people coming for us are formidable," said Lex, "I've dealt with them before. They're smart, well-prepared and they have certain… abilities."

"Like the prisoner? The Sheriff?"

"No," Lex shook his head, "No one is like the Sheriff. And that'll be our advantage."

"How?"

"Follow me," said Lex, angling for the door, "It's time for you to meet my army."

.

.

.


	24. Zombie

**Zombie**

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Kid Flash, aka Impulse, aka _not _Speedy, was christened Bartholomew Christopher Allen by the nuns who found him on the steps of St. Christopher's chapel in a rundown section of Star City nineteen years ago.

He was a… strange kid, to say the least.

The orphanage at the church had been in operation for almost a hundred years at that point, and many abandoned, tragic souls had passed through it's doors, all of them growing to maturity under the stern, watchful gazes of a group of dedicated nuns from a nearby convent. The order's Mother Superior – one Sister Geraldine – was a wizened, kind-hearted woman 70 years young the day Bart Allen was placed on the church steps. In her time, she was convinced she had seen every type of boy or girl child; sullen introverts, troubled loners; exuberant pleasers…

But she had never met a child like Bart Allen.

In her considerable experience every orphan, regardless of their inherent nature, be it bubbly or sombre, would go through a period of painful introspection. When they became withdrawn and prone to sudden and furious outbursts and night terrors. It hit hardest with those the nuns called 'lifers'. Kids who grew up in the orphanage from pre-toddler to post-pubescent. Kids whose family were other orphans, who had known no other life.

Not Bart Allen.

He was the most incessantly happy person Sister Geraldine had ever met. Bart was always smiling. Always helping. Always willing to sacrifice of himself to make others happy.

No wonder he became a hero.

No wonder he was driving Canary crazy.

"What kinda goons you think Lex has up in here?" he asked, "Hope they got some game. Haven't been in a decent smackdown since Panama. Remember that? Those guerrilla-wannabes with the MAC-9's? The ones who stole the warhead?"

"I remember."

"That coke-sniffin' kingpin had a crush on you, didn't he? What's up with that, Screech? Why do all the psychos seem to have the hots for you?"

"Impulse?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you know how many decibels the human ear can tolerate before the eardrum ruptures and bursts?"

"No."

"Do you want to find out?"

He fell silent. Wisely.

They'd reached the end of a corridor and faced a metal door. It looked like a fire-door, with a safety bar in place of a handle. Canary touched the bar tentatively with a finger first. She wouldn't put it past Lex to electrocute a seemingly innocuous-looking door.

Nothing happened. She pressed down on the bar and opened the it. Beyond lay a short flight of steps, ending at another door. Kid Flash was up the stairs in a second. He opened that one.

"Whoah…" he muttered.

Canary climbed the steps. Kid Flash was already through the door, which emerged onto a small platform over what looked like a fairly large warehouse. And it was filled…

With hundreds and hundreds of aluminium coffins.

"Whoah…" said Canary.

Coffins. That's all they could be. They certainly weren't regular storage chests. The platform was just that, a platform. No stairs descending to the warehouse floor. Canary and Kid Flash flipped over the rail, dropping twenty feet to the concrete. Canary's landing was considerably lighter. Kid Flash didn't quite stick it and landed on his ass.

"Ow!"

Absently, Canary reached down, grabbed a handful of red leather, and hauled him to his feet. He seemed to take the indignity in stride.

Canary strode over to the nearest coffin. They were latched with simple flick-locks, and she quickly flipped them and grabbed the handle.

"Wait!" Kid Flash whipped to her side, "What the hell are you doing?'

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

"You're just going to open it?"

"Of course."

"Hold on!" he grabbed her hand.

She stiffened and turned on him, baring her teeth. "Don't… touch me."

He let go quickly – but just of her hand, not of the subject.

"Haven't you seen _Night of the Living Dead_? Or _Zombieland_? Or _Dracula_?"

"You think these caskets are full of zombies or vampires?"

"You just said it!" he pointed out, "Caskets! As in chests that carry the undead!"

"There's no such thing."

"Can you really afford to take that chance?" he asked, "Especially with your bad-guy track record? What if one of these flesh munchers takes a shine to the skin-tight black leather? _Bride of Frankenstein_ was a sucky movie, and if it's all the same to you – I'd rather not be here for the live show."

Canary rolled her eyes. She opened the coffin. Kid Flash squealed a little and slapped a hand over his glasses.

"I can't look!" he moaned, "What is it?"

"Er… I have a question about those _Night of the Dead Zombie Vampire_ movies," said Canary.

"Yeah?"

"Were the zombies usually… naked?"

"Huh?"

He pulled the hand away from his eyes. Then really wished he hadn't.

"Ewwww…!"

There was, indeed, a naked man in the coffin.

"Is it… dead?" Kid Flash squeaked out the question.

They couldn't tell if it was dead, or merely sleeping. The casket itself was actually a refrigerator and freezing smoke wafted out as soon as the lid was lifted.

"Why don't you check?" asked Canary.

"No way! You wanted to pop the lid on ice-corpse over here, why don't you check?"

"I don't want to. You do it!"

"You do it!"

"You do it!"

"You d–"

That's when the lights went out. They were plunged into all-encompassing darkness. Kid Flash shot out a hand and grabbed hold of Canary's arm. This time, she didn't shake it off.

"You got a bad feeling about this?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Oh, good… so it's not just me."

THOOM… THOOM… THOOOM!

"What the hell is that?"

The sound was coming from… everywhere. Pounding. Pounding.

Pounding.

Except dead ahead. The coffin with the open lid. The sound that issued from that one was infinitely worse.

The sound of a dead man taking a breath.

Canary sensed more than saw the man sit up in the coffin. She reacted. She threw a punch.

And almost broke her hand.

It was like punching a hanging cow carcass.

Canary hissed, clutching her injured hand. There was a flicker, and some of the overhead lights came back on. They were weaker than before, and more than half were still out. Probably running on a generator.

It was more than bright enough, though, to see coffin lids being popped off their hinges all around the room. The former-dead men were sitting up and clambering out. Kid Flash and Canary backed up toward the wall.

"Hey… Dinah…" he said, reverting to her real name in his nervousness.

"Yeah?"

"I know this might not be the best time, but… I told you so, I told you so, _I told you so!_"

"Later!"

Canary sprang into action. The – _zombie? –_ she'd hit was on it's feet. It's still eyes were fixed on them and, grunting, it stepped forward. Canary dipped into a crouch, then swivelled round – left-leg extended – and swept it's feet out from under it. It went down with a sickening splat. But only for a second, before it sat back up again.

More and more of the zombies had escaped their coffins. They filled the warehouse. Kid Flash estimated there must be over a hundred of them.

Oh well, he shrugged, time to get to work.

He bent down and picked up a coffin lid that had been punched right off it's holdings. Hoisting it like a chair in a cheesy pro wrestling match, he kicked off at top speed.

This is where Bart Allen lived. Where… as the poet Lord Byron once said, his joy was unconfined.

At super-speed, it was like God hit a giant pause button, but forgot to include him. Sound was muffled and the air became thick, like treacle pudding. He pushed through it, swinging the heavy aluminium lid left and right.

Each hit jarred him to his very bones, but he didn't stop. His technique was erratic and unsophisticated to say the least – aiming for the general head area. But he made contact. The blows were titanic –massive, heavy hits that dented the lid almost beyond recognition.

Yet less than half the zombies actually went down. Whatever they were, they were really strong.

He'd bashed his way through about half the throng in one and a half seconds – when he miscalculated. Or, no, one of the zombies reacted quicker. It moved, still at a fraction of his own speed, but fast enough. It got a meaty forearm up to block the lid, and managed to stick out a fist aimed at his midsection. Kid Flash ran straight into it.

His speed, combined with the hulk of man-meat power behind it knocked the wind from him and he dropped to his knees, wheezing. The bent lid fell beside him with a clatter. The zombie kicked out, catching him flush in the sternum. Kid Flash actually flew a few feet through the air and banged into the side of a coffin, knocking it over.

He choked and blubbered, trying desperately to get his breath back. It felt like he'd cracked a rib.

Through the forest of zombie legs, he could see Canary still fighting. Or, rather, ducking and diving. She was supple and fast and extremely flexible, and was managing to avoid them so far.

But for how long?

"Screech!" he called, "Dinah!"

The effort of shouting pressed on his damaged ribs and he moaned, tasting blood in the back of his throat. He saw Canary glance at him.

"You gotta do it!" he shouted through the pain, "You gotta go ultrasonic!"

"What about you?" she called, avoiding another zombie with a neat back flip.

"Chloe gave us the plugs!"

"Well, put them in for God's sakes!"

Kid Flash tugged on the front zipper of his jacket. That's when he saw the shadow. The same zombie who had taken him down was now looming over him, one foot raised, ready to bring it down and pop his head like an overripe melon.

In his current condition, he couldn't speed. But he could roll. He managed to slide between the legs of the upended coffin, and the zombie's foot missed him by inches. He thrust a hand into his inside pocket, his fingers grasping at two small wads in a piece of plastic. Still fumbling, he managed to unhook his Comm device.

"What the hell's taking you so long?"

As he watched, a zombie got hold of Canary. A massive hand clamped under her jaw and lifted her clear off the floor. The zombie surged forward and smashed her into the wall.

"Dinah!"

His first instinct was to rush to her aid, but that wasn't the smart play. And one thing he'd learned in his time with the league – yes, dammit, they were the Justice League now – was to always make the smart play.

He stuffed the earplugs in. They were Chloe's own creation. A fusion of various alloys, including plasticene, and were nano-threaded with carbon fibre. As soon as he put them in, he might as well have been down the deepest hole in the world. All sound was blocked out. All of it.

He saw Canary raise herself into a sitting position, coughing blood.

"Dinah!" he screamed, "Let 'em have it!"

He saw her open her mouth. The sound that managed to reach him was high-pitched and mildly unpleasant, but no more than that. It wasn't the same for the zombies, though.

They all stalled in their tracks, throwing their hands up to block their ears. Then they started trembling. Then they fell, one by one.

The stomping zombie collapsed on his side right in front of Kid Flash. It was thrashing about like it was having a seizure. Dirty green froth bubbled from between it's lips. Then it stiffened once, and a stream of messy red gore geysered out of it's ears. Kid Flash shut his eyes, and he felt a stream of it hit his face.

He kept his eyes shut and waited, in blissful quiet, for thirty long seconds. When he opened them again, the blood had smeared all across his lenses and he had to take them off. Across the warehouse some of the zombies were still twitching, but most of them were still. Blood coated the floor an inch thick.

He took out the earplugs and got to his feet. Across from him, Canary was using the wall to prop herself up. He zipped over, almost slipping in the blood. The dying zombies moaned and hissed, and there was the occasional _thwap_ as limbs struck the sticky floor.

Her face was white. Pure white, like a starched shirt. Sweat dripped off her, and her spiky hair was wet. She was heaving, her lungs working like a bellows, trying to draw oxygen.

"Looks like it worked," she managed between breaths.

Ignoring his throbbing ribs, he grabbed her and pulled her into a hug.

"That was rock star, Screech," he told her, "Totally rock star!"

.

.


	25. Motive

**A/N: **Hey everybody, sorry for the delay between updates. I don't have any excuses - just an explanation. I'm writing a lot at work right now - a lot - and sometimes I think there are only so many words, and I have to prioritise my job. But I'll keep at this. It's been a long journey, and we're almost at the end. Thanks for sticking with it. :)

G.

* * *

**Motive**

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.

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Perry White was a naturally curious man. It's what made him a good reporter.

No, it's what made him a great reporter.

Until the day she died, his sainted mother – may God rest her soul – loved to tell the story that little Perry's first word was, "Why?"

'_Mama, why is the ground hard?'_

'_Mama, why do birds like trees?'_

'_Mama, why do you always roll your eyes when I ask you a question?'_

And for all of his 50+ years Perry White had never stopped asking the question 'Why?' Also; 'What? When? Where? and How?'

The glib explanation was that he liked to get to the truth of things. The more honest explanation was that it was fun to dig. To scratch away at something that everyone else accepted as fact, and expose it's true form.

It was a rush.

But now, for the first time in his life, his natural instinct was failing him.

He was marching along a cramped, winding concrete hallway with the biggest story he would ever come across, and Perry, for the life of him, couldn't think of a single question to ask.

Superman, for his part, was a quiet companion. Jaw set, eyes forward, he moved with calm and purpose. To sate is curiosity, Perry studied him. The man moved like a jaguar. Every step sure and deliberate.

They'd proceeded in silence for almost a full five minutes, and the hallway hadn't changed. It descended on a steady, albeit shallow gradient – like a ramp down to the centre of the earth. Perry didn't want to imagine what they'd find at the end.

"You can ask if you want to," said Superman, breaking the silence so suddenly that it gave Perry a start.

"Ask what?"

"Whatever you want. I know you have questions."

"You do?"

"Of course," said Superman, "Coz I know you."

Admittedly, that was one of the few dozen question questions that had raced through his mind. And since his companion had just given him permission…

"So, I have a double too?" he asked, "Do you know him? Me? I mean-"

"Yes, you do," said Superman, "And I know him well. He's my boss."

"I'm a superhero on your world?"

Superman laughed. Then he stopped short, and looked embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to laugh at that."

"I don't blame you," said Perry, "It's a funny concept. I mean, what would my name even be? _Hack?_"

"He's a reporter," said Superman, "Editor, actually."

"Of what?"

"The Daily Planet."

"Impressive,."

"Next question," said Superman, "What do you want to know? If you're married, if you have kids, who your doppelganger's favourite singer is? It's Elvis, by the way."

"No," said Perry, "What are you doing here?"

"Excuse me?"

"You told Kid Flash you were almost as fast as him," said Perry.

"Right."

"And you can fly."

"Right."

"I've seen how strong you are, and I'm guessing invulnerability," Perry went on, "Not to mention the trick with the eyes."

"X-Ray and heat vision."

"So, what are you doing?"

"I don't understand," Superman admitted.

Perry stopped walking. Superman had to halt too, and turn back to face him. He recognised that look in Perry's eyes. His mind was zigzagging – identifying and connecting patterns that just about everybody else would miss.

"I'm guessing you could pretty much blast straight through this place if you wanted to," said Perry, "And yet you brought a team, and then chose to saddle yourself with the oldest, least physically-able member of that team. And now, we're walking instead of–"

"Super-speeding?"

"Right."

Superman nodded. He appeared to be giving the question due consideration, which Perry was grateful for. Superman struck him as a thoughtful man.

"It's not my job to rescue Clark," he said, at last.

This gave Perry pause. "Why not? This rescue mission was your idea."

"And that's fine," said Superman, "I can nudge things – guide events as gently as possible – but at the end of the day, Clark's fate is in the hands of his friends. This world doesn't have a Superman. And it won't unless Clark chooses to put on the shield. That is, rightly or wrongly, the natural order of things."

"I've seen a few Sci-Fi movies in my time," said Perry, "Are you saying you'll create some kind of paradox if you interfere? I'm pretty sure there was an episode of _The Twilight Zone_ where the world exploded because a man jumped through a wormhole and met himself."

"It's okay," said Superman, "That won't happen."

"Are you sure?"

"I've met versions of myself before."

"You live an eventful life."

"You don't know the half of it."

"But all this talk of a natural order, and Clark stepping up to be a hero, and your friends being the ones to make the save…"

"Yes?"

"It's all a cover," said Perry, "What's the real reason?"

Superman laughed. It was loud, and hearty, and genuine.

"I shoulda known," he said, "I never was any good at keeping things from you."

"That still isn't an answer."

"Okay, I have… an ulterior motive for being here," said Superman.

Perry's eyes narrowed to slits, and were suddenly cold. Superman noticed, and hurried to explain, "It's just as important as saving Clark," he said, "Maybe more so."

"What is it?"

"A few years ago – back on my world – Lex Luthor harvested a vial of my blood," said Superman, "The how isn't important, but it caused a lot of grief for a lot of people. A lot of death. I wasn't lying about why I came here. I did come to thank Clark for helping Lois get back home. But as soon as I heard that Clark had been captured…"

"You know what Lex is doing here?"

"I'm almost certain."

"What?"

"He's going to make himself immortal."

"Immortal?" Perry looked even more sceptical.

"My DNA, when mixed with human DNA, powers regeneration at an escalating rate. To a factor of five. Essentially, with the right mixture, it acts as power for an undead body."

"This is all a little too fantastical," said Perry.

Clark nodded, and started walking again. Perry hurried along beside him.

"Just take my word for it," said Superman.

"Fine," said Perry, "But where are we going?"

"On my world – and others - 33.1 has always been split into two levels. A secret chamber within a secret chamber. One is for Lex's experiments, and the other… for his last hope."

"Are you always this vague?"

"Around you?" Superman smirked, "Absolutely."

"And the reason we're not super-speeding?"

"Because I can't."

"What?"

"This place is drowning in meteor rock," said Superman. I lost my powers almost ten minutes ago. That's why I asked you to come with me. To finish the job in case I can't."

"Wait!" Perry stopped again, alarmed now, "You're powerless?"

"Yes."

"But I thought the meteor rocks hurt you."

"They do."

"Doesn't look like it."

"Believe me, it does," said Superman, "I could moan a little bit, if it'll help."

"This isn't funny," said Perry, "You're walking into a meteor-infected tomb."

"Again, that's why you're here," said Superman, "To finish it. Don't worry, I'll show you what to do before…"

"Before what?"

"Before I die."

.

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	26. Brat

**Brat**

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.

.

Lois was so hating this.

Problem numero uno: the hallway she was in looked eerily like one she and Clark had been abducted in – a cross between the endless corridors of the _Star Trek Enterprise_ and a run-down hospital.

Her other problem: Oliver.

She refused to talk to him, and he was slowly regressing into the hopped-up 8 year-old boy _(who never grew out of his playing with a bow and arrow phase)_ that she knew he had inside.

Every second step he would grunt in pain and grab at his shoulder.

"God!" she muttered, when she couldn't take it anymore, "Will you stop it?"

"I'm in pain."

"You are not."

"I dislocated my shoulder two hours ago." he said, "Not all of us have superpowers."

"Doesn't stop you dressing up in spandex and prowling the night."

"It's leather, not spandex."

"Don't make me dislocate the other shoulder."

"Lois, please-"

"No!"

"Just stop!"

With a huff, she stopped and faced him. It was bizarre looking at him with the hood drawn up and the reflective sunglasses. She tried to find remnants of the face she woke up to every morning in the line of his jaw, the shape of his lips, but even those seemed… different.

"Can't we just get past this?"

"We'll talk when Clark's safe."

"That's if we make it out of here."

"We will."

"We don't know that," he said, not unreasonably, "And I don't wanna go into this with us fighting."

"We'll make it out," said Lois, firmly, "Superman won't let anything happen to us."

"Are you kidding me?"

"No."

"You've known the guy for twenty minutes, how can you possibly know what he will or won't do?"

Lois just ignored that, spun on her hell and carried on walking. Oliver was forced to follow. They came to another T-junction. Lois paused in the mouth of the hallway and peered down either side.

"Which way?" she asked.

Oliver was spared from answering, because at that moment a chunk of plaster exploded out of the wall, just above Lois's head, followed milliseconds later by the boom of a gunshot echoing down the left-hand corridor.

"Get down!"

Oliver grabbed her around the waist and flung them both back the way they'd come. Three more bullets blasted into the wall as they rolled end over end, scurrying so their backs were against the wall and out of the line of fire.

"Sounds like it's just one guard," said Lois.

"Yeah, but those gunshots will bring others," said Oliver, "We have to take him out."

Grimacing, he reached for the retractable crossbow clipped to his belt. The move, though slight, shot fire up his arm. He'd landed on his shoulder again when he pulled Lois out of the path of the bullet.

The bow was beautiful. Carved from ebony with bronzed wings that folded in at the touch of a button, it had real heft and fine balance. Oliver could barely lift it.

"Give me that," said Lois, "You can't shoot with your arm like that."

"I still have my left hand!" he protested, as another bullet smacked into the brick opposite. The gunshot sounded closer.

"We don't have time to argue!"

"No, Lois, I-"

"Look, I get it!" she said, snatching the crossbow out of his hand, "You're Green Arrow, and your aim is legendary. But I was trained by a man who the Wimbledon twice!"

"A tennis player taught you how to shoot?"

"Not Wimbledon, _the_ Wimbledon!" she corrected him, and when he still looked blank, added: "The Marine sniper competition!"

"Oh…"

Lois spent three precious seconds inspecting the bow. There were four slim bolts already loaded, and she could see them tensed against their springs. There were two triggers, one each for the two bolts on top and the bolts on the bottom. Each trigger had a double action. Pulling back halfway released the first bolt – all the way and the second bolt would follow the first.

Seemed simple enough.

Before Oliver could stop her, she hoisted herself up into a crouch, then launched her body out into the corridor. She tucked in, turning into a tumbler's roll, and came to a stop, flat on her stomach against the far wall.

She already had her hands outstretched, sighting down the T of the crossbow. The gunman was moving, making it a difficult shot. She also saw him realigning his gun to track her movement, sending a fresh spurt of adrenaline pulsing through her blood.

_In an instant, Lois was 16 again. _

_She was back at Fort Irwin, sweating in full fatigues under the oppressive California sun. She lay facedown – much like she was now – on a little sand mound cut into the northern perimeter of a massive two mile range in the Mojave. She could still feel the scalding barrel of the rifle tucked in against her cheek. And the hot breath of the man lying beside her pulsing in soft jets against her ear. _

"_Easy does it," said Reacher, "Just remember, breathing is the key."_

"_Okay," said the younger Lois._

"_Take a deep breath in – listen to your heart."_

_She followed his instructions, and could hear the rapid thudding of her heart inside her chest. _

"_Now breathe out. Slowly. Control it. Feel your heart slowing down."_

_The thumps were coming further apart as she calmed herself. She sighted down the barrel. They weren't using scopes that day, and her target was a cut-out of a man 700 yards away. It was placed on a spindle that caused it to sway in the heavy desert breeze. It was an impossible shot. _

"_Wait for the moment," Reacher was saying, "That slice of a second in-between beats, after you breathe out and just before you breathe in… that's the moment. That's when you…"_

Lois squeezed the trigger.

The bolt shot out with a loud thwack and she traced it's path through the air. The guard must have sensed it was coming because he tried to jump aside at the last second, and the bolt punched into his chest, just below his collarbone. His scream was almost as loud as the gunshots.

Lois allowed herself a brief moment of self-congratulation, before she surged to her feet. She sprinted down the hall, directly at the downed guard. She kept the bow up, pointed at him, and heard Oliver racing up behind her.

When she reached him, the guard tried to lift the gun again and she stomped on his wrist. He squealed and the gun clattered to the floor. She swept it up, then planted another boot on the man's jaw. She heard a crack and he lay still, unconscious.

"Nice shooting," said Oliver.

"Told ya," said Lois.

She handed back his crossbow and checked the guard's gun. It was a Beretta, 9mm, and brand new. A great weapon. There were eight rounds left in the magazine, and one in the hole. She swiftly searched the guard and found two spare clips, which she pocketed.

"Wow," said Oliver, as she set off again, "Looks like you really know what you're doing."

"Surprised?"

"A little."

"You're my fiancée," she said, "So you really shouldn't be."

The comment stung worse than his shoulder, and Oliver chose to keep quiet.

The truth was, he was starting to doubt himself. Watching Lois now, how completely in command she was – how capable – he was starting to think that maybe he should have let her in on his secret identity. She was no shrinking violet. He'd already known that much, but maybe he'd displayed more than a little misogyny in thinking she couldn't handle the vigilante side of his life.

He only hoped she'd give him the chance to correct his error.

But he was starting to think the possibility of that was remote.

They proceeded down the hall another hundred yards before they came to a doorway. It was metal, and solid. It looked like a bank vault. Lois tried the handle, and was completely thrown when it turned easily in her hand. The door swung open and, gun raised, she stepped into the room.

And straight into a nightmare.

Clark was there. He was shackled to the ceiling, and just about gone. He looked like he'd lost thirty pounds overnight, and his bare torso was drenched in blood that flowed freely from his mouth, nose and ears. There were ugly black streaks crisscrossing his entire body that, Lois realised with sudden horror, were his veins. Something hung from his neck by a chain. She couldn't see what it was, because it was half-buried in a smouldering hole in his chest.

At the sight of him, all Lois wanted to do was rush over and put her arms around him. Offer him some kind of relief. Of comfort.

It was all she wanted in the whole world.

But she couldn't.

"Who in the hell are you?" she heard Oliver ask behind her.

He was addressing the woman standing by Clark's side. She was wearing a pouffy dress that was lifted straight from a bad 90's teen movie and had a smile on her face that would've made the Joker shudder.

She also had a gun to Clark's head.

"Look Clark," said the woman, "She's here… the love of your life. Isn't it wonderful? She gets to watch me blow your brains out."

.

.

.


End file.
